A New Ally
by Sherlock 2K
Summary: An old friend decides to pop in on Holmes for a little visit, but the adventure that follows may be more than what they bargained for. Features a stubborn Lestrade, a bemused Gregson, and Watson, who's just along for the ride... COMPLETE! Please RR!
1. Kathryn Granger

A/N: Hello, This is my sequel to the Ultimate Challenge I do not own anything that has to do with Sherlock Holmes, such as Watson, Sherlock, etc. I do, however own Julia Stamford and Kathryn Granger. Enjoy and please R/R!  
  
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Over three months had passed after the kidnapping of Sherlock Holmes, which I described in the account, "The Ultimate Challenge". Nothing more had been heard of Colonel Moran, or of Julia Stamford. The event had almost slipped out of our minds, when a particularly singular train of events brought it back into clear memory  
  
Sherlock Holmes and I had been strolling in Hyde Park on a beautiful, summer morning when this singular chain of events begins. He had been silent all morning, and had been in deep thought. Suddenly, he said, "Oh, and by the way Watson, are you free for the next few days?"  
  
"Why yes," I replied, "Why do you ask?"  
  
"Well, a very good friend of mine if coming to London to visit me for about three weeks, and I was wondering if you would like to meet her."  
  
"Her?" I asked incredulously, "Who is she?"  
  
Holmes's face broke into a small smile, and said, "Her name is Kathryn Granger and she is a writer by profession. I met her when I was at university and she later helped me on one of my little cases. She is one of the foremost members of the fair sex. She is a very bright lady and I think you'll like her very much."  
  
"How did you come to meet her?" I asked.  
  
"It was when I first went to Cambridge for my university education. I had just decided on my career as a detective after my happenings with Victor Trevor and the 'Gloria Scott'. She sat next to me in my chemistry class for several weeks, but we had hardly exchanged a word of conversation. Then, on the first day of the lab work, we were paired up together. We had just set up our experiment, when I accidentally knocked over a beaker of acetic acid all over her hand. Unfortunately, we didn't manage to get it off in time and her hand was badly burned.  
  
"I was very distraught at having caused Kathryn Granger her wound and was anxious to see if it healed. For the next few days, I inquired upon her, and in the mean time we had become fast friends. By the time her hand fully healed, we had become very close friends. We had many things in common and could sit and talk for hours.  
  
"She is a very complex person, and is a very remarkable exception to her sex. She is energetic and vivacious, yet introspective and calm. She shares my talents for observation and deduction, and her gift for imagination greatly surpasses my own. But do not let me bias your judgement of her, for you will get to meet her soon enough."  
  
I had never heard him talking about any woman in that fashion and was very impressed by the way she made an impact on him.  
  
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She called on us the next morning after we had finished breakfast. Kathryn Granger was a tall, vivacious woman in her mid thirties. She had a pair of sparkling green eyes, which held the clear, introspective gaze that I had often seen with Holmes. Her long, jet-black hair was tied elegantly into a knot at the back of her head. She held herself very elegantly, and her whole complexion was very attractive, but she had a mischievous, mysterious tone to her, as though she was always hiding something.  
  
"I am very pleased to meet you," she said in a silky but firm voice after Holmes has introduced us. "Holmes had spoken highly of you in his letter to me a fortnight ago. I have read many of your chronicled adventures of him and I find your style of writing very refreshing."  
  
"Thank you very much." I replied, "So, what brings you to London?"  
  
Kathryn smiled and answered, "Well, I've come here to get a little inspiration for my next novel. I was thinking of writing a mystery, and what better place to go than the home of the greatest detective in the world?"  
  
"My blushes, Granger." Holmes said sardonically, "Watson and I were planning to go to Covent Garden this evening at seven o'clock to see the beginning of the Summer Music Festival. Would you like to join us? I think they are playing several pieces by the notorious composer, Camille Saint- Saëns."  
  
"Of course I'll come. Saint-Saëns is one of my favourite composers," replied Kathryn, a little flattered, "I'll come around at six o'clock."  
  
We continued to talk for some time, Holmes had been telling her about some recent cases and of his kidnapping. Kathryn had been very interested and sometimes had commented as how she would herself have handled the cases, had she been there. By the time she left us, Kathryn Granger had struck me as being a very extraordinary woman. 


	2. A Night Out

A/N: Here's Chapter 2. I still don't own anything except Kathryn and Julia. Everything else belongs to Doyle. Enjoy and please R/R. Constructive criticism is welcome.  
  
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Chapter 2- A Night Out  
  
Kathryn Granger called upon us that evening precisely at the time she had named. I sent for a cab, while Holmes and Kathryn were chatting together quietly. Holmes was in a wonderful mood that evening. In the brougham, he would talk of nothing but violins and modern music. I quickly found out that Holmes was very fond of the music by Lassus, Mendelssohn, and Liszt. He told us that he could play Saint-Saëns's Danse Macabre for himself, and promised us he would play it after we got back home.  
  
By the time we had reached Covent Garden, all three of us were in the highest of spirits. As we entered the festival, we admired all of the spectacular decorations in the park. It seemed as though the evening air itself was glowing with anticipation for the start of the festival. All around, there were hundreds of tiny, scintillating candles that lined the bushes, the grass and the stage. Apart from a few extra tapering candles on the stage itself for the orchestra, everything was dark, making the plethora of the tiny pin points of light from the candles appear like a sea of stars that had descended from the heavens in anticipation of the music.  
  
When the music started, it filled the air with its quivering notes. I sat there on that warm summer night, amidst the faint glowing of the candles, mesmerised by the beautiful and eerie music. We sat there under the heavens for two hours, enjoying the wonderful music of Saint-Saëns. The orchestra played the lively Bacchanal, the haunting Danse Macabre, the magnificent "Carnival of the Animals," and the breathtaking Organ Symphony. As the enchanting music filled the air, it seemed as though even the stars above were dancing with delight and enjoying the awing melodies. Slowly, an enigmatic mist swirled among us and soon we were enveloped in the dense fog.  
  
Afterwards, we went to a restaurant to get a late supper. As we sipped some sparkling champagne, we discussed the events of the evening. It appeared that Kathryn enjoyed the music as much as I did, and even Holmes, who would usually be able to criticise the music, could not find a word against it. Holmes and Kathryn were chatting away about past cases when a thought suddenly came to my mind.  
  
"Holmes, what was the case that Kathryn helped you with about?" I asked. A surreptitious smile appeared upon his face as he glanced at Kathryn before replying:  
  
"It was such a singular little case that happened to come my way while I was attending university at Cambridge. I think that if you had been there, you would have definitely wanted to write one of your little stories about it. Perhaps Kathryn here would like to tell you about it."  
  
"Well, alright then," Kathryn replied, grinning. "It was actually a very simple case about a lost book bag. The case was brought to my attention when one of my friends, Anne, called upon me one morning and told me her book bag was missing. I knew Holmes liked to solve cases like this and was aspiring to be a detective, so I informed him of the situation. After ascertaining that the bag was not in her lodgings, nor was it misplaced elsewhere by questioning Anne's roommates, we had determined that it was stolen. I will not bore you with the arduous details of how we found the culprit and retrieved the bag, but I will tell you that we both learned two very important lessons from it. First, is to never jump to a conclusion about where a fact will lead you, and second is to always expect the unexpected."  
  
"Very wise words," I commented thoughtfully, "It seems like you had learned a lot from the experience. 


	3. Curious Events

A/N: Hey everybody! I'm back with the next two chapters! Umm just so you know, I wrote The Ultimate Challenge, while my co-author wrote The Faulty Firework. I do not own anything Sherlockian except Kathryn and Julia. The plot thickens here so please R/R! Enjoy!  
  
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Chapter 3- Curious Events  
  
As the evening's events ended, we parted company with Kathryn Granger and set off back to our own lodgings. We walked for a while, when Holmes suddenly came to a stop.  
  
"I'm sorry to leave you at such short notice, my dear fellow," said he, "But I still have something to do. Go back to Baker Street, and I'll be back soon."  
  
"Does it have something to do with a case?" I asked anxiously, "I don't want you to get hurt, Holmes."  
  
"Oh, don't worry about me, Watson." he replied reassuringly, "I can take care of myself. This does not have anything to do with a case, nor is it anything dangerous, or else I would have asked you to come with me. I just need to pay a visit to brother Mycroft tonight."  
  
"Well, all right then. Goodnight, Holmes," I said.  
  
"Goodnight Watson, and do not wait up for me," replied Holmes. He waved at me, then turned around and disappeared around the corner of the street and faded into the dense swirls of fog.  
  
There was nothing left for me to do apart from going home, so I followed his directions and hailed a cab to go back to Baker Street. I was determined, however, to wait up for him and ask him what he had done, so I picked up a novel I was reading, sat down by the warm hearth, and started my lonely vigil for Holmes. I waited for many hours, but as the clock chimed midnight, I saw it was useless to wait for him and so retired to bed.  
  
In the morning, I found Holmes sitting at the breakfast table, a little haggard, but otherwise in high spirits.  
  
"So, how did it go with your brother last night?" I asked.  
  
"I was just paying a visit to him to see how he was doing, that's all, and there was nothing to worry about." Holmes replied simply. This was very strange of Holmes, as he never went anywhere unless it had to do with a case and seldom visited Mycroft at all. Seeing the unspoken question in my eyes, he said casually,  
  
"Mycroft has had some slight problems lately concerning some commonplace trifles that he stumbled over and was just asking for some advice." This reply was just as awkward as the first one but his tone implied that the subject closed for discussion.  
  
"By the way, Watson, did you see where my jack-knife went?" asked Holmes.  
  
As it happened, I was so used to the knife being there, I did not even notice that it was missing, but now that Holmes drew my attention to it, I saw that it was not stuck onto the mantelpiece as it usually was.  
  
"No, I have no idea," I replied, a little confused. "I didn't notice that it was missing until you informed me just now."  
  
"Hmmm, it seems that we have a little mystery on our hands," said Holmes sardonically with a twinkle in his eyes. We were interrupted from further discussion by Billy, the page, who walked in and announced the arrival of Kathryn Granger and Inspector Lestrade. The pallid, thin-lipped inspector had a very haggard face and wore a grim and agitated look when he came in which showed that he had been up all night, probably supervising a case.  
  
"Ah, good morning, Lestrade," announced Holmes brightly. "May I introduce to you a very good friend of mine, Miss Kathryn Granger. You have come to ask for advice on a case, I perceive. Pray take a seat and inform us of the details, and I'll see what I can do to help you."  
  
"Well, Mr. Holmes, I have indeed come to consult you about a fresh case, though how you could know is beyond my reckoning." Inspector Lestrade replied restlessly, "I think you'll find this case to have some personal interest, as I understand that you know the victim. At 7 o'clock, this morning, a woman was found lying on the floor or her temporary lodgings, dead in a bed and breakfast at 243 Oxford Street. The woman was later identified as none other than Miss Julia Stamford." 


	4. Sherlock's Surprise

A/N: I do not own anything Sherlockian, except Kathryn Granger and Julia Stamford, but since I killed her off, there wouldn't be any point in that, anymore. Oh well, please R/R. Enjoy!  
  
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Chapter 4- Sherlock's Surprise At this, Holmes's eyes widened considerably and, to the surprise of the rest of us, he stood up very quickly and began to pace around the room, eyebrows knotted, as though in deep, preoccupied thought. After a while, he stopped and then said:  
  
"I beg you to pardon the interruption to this very interesting narrative. As you can perceive, this is a very shocking development. Pray continue."  
  
At this, Holmes returned to his chair calmly, but I could tell by his pale face that this was a very astonishing turn of events unforeseen by him.  
  
"As I was saying," Lestrade continued, somewhat more cautiously as a result of Holmes's reaction, "the pathologist determined that death was instantaneous, caused by a wound that punctured the left atrium of the heart inflicted by a very small, but sharp object. Time of death was estimated to be between the hours of 10 and 11 o'clock in the evening before. The maid was the person who found her when she went to bring the breakfast. An interview with the landlady revealed that a mysterious stranger called upon the victim on the night of the murder, but as of now, we have no clue as to the identity of that person, and we do not have any other leads to go on. None of the other servants or the landlady could reveal anything else as they already retired to there own rooms by that hour. I would very much appreciate it if you would come around with me to look at the case."  
  
Holmes had now recovered from the initial amazement of the news and now was pondering the facts over in his mind.  
  
"Yes, yes. Why not?" He mused after some time. "I will come around with you now and have a look at the case. You won't mind if my friend, Miss Granger comes along with us?"  
  
Lestrade shook his head. "Of course not, Mr. Holmes; I have no objection whatsoever," he answered.  
  
"Perfect," Holmes exclaimed, "Watson, would you mind going downstairs with Lestrade for a moment to hail a brougham? I have something to discuss with Miss Granger in private and we will be down shortly."  
  
I consented, and made my way down the stairs, followed by a very bewildered Lestrade.  
  
"Upon my word, Dr. Watson," he said in an astonished voice, "Just between you and me, I think that Mr. Holmes is out of his mind. Blimey, he's acting stranger than usual. I am beginning to regret my informing him of this murder. I hope that his reaction will not impair his ability to solve this case."  
  
"I think that Holmes is just shocked that Julia Stamford is now dead," I replied, smiling. "I've never seen him like this before in all our years of friendship. I know him well enough, however; to know he will put his emotions aside when he is looking at the case at hand.  
  
Holmes and Kathryn shortly followed us, just in time to catch the brougham waiting outside. The journey itself to the crime scene was an uneventful one. Holmes himself was silent and brooding with his fingers arched in front of him and his eyebrows knitted above his steely grey eyes.  
  
Kathryn, Lestrade and I were engaged in a quiet conversation about the prospects of the case at hand.  
  
"I've got some of my constables still searching for any shred of evidence as to the identity of the culprit," said Lestrade, "but as far as I know, nothing important has been discovered, not even the murder weapon."  
  
"Why did you inform Holmes so early on in your investigation?" I asked. "You have never handed a case into his hands so quickly before."  
  
"Well Doctor, normally I would have waited until all the evidence was gathered before consulting Mr. Holmes," replied Lestrade, "but as this situation involves a close acquaintance of his, I thought that it would be better to inform him sooner. I also didn't want to hear of his complaints that I had consulted him too late and had robbed him of potentially valuable evidence."  
  
"Perhaps you should not have informed him at all, after seeing his reaction to the news," commented Kathryn sternly, "His relationship with the victim may bias his judgement and impair his ability to solve the case."  
  
"Well, what's done is done, Miss Granger," replied Lestrade hurriedly, "I don't deny that my actions were a little rash, but it seems to me that Mr. Holmes is back to his old self" He glanced at Holmes surreptitiously, before quickly changing the subject, "So, Miss Granger. What brings you to London and why are you interested in this case?"  
  
"I'm here in London on research for my next mystery novel," Kathryn replied simply. "The same reason explains my interest in this case. I hope to make my stories as realistic as possible, to bring the readers into the scenario itself. But enough about me, for here we are at scene of the crime."  
  
Indeed, the bed and breakfast where Julia Stamford once stayed was before us. The four of us stepped out of the cab, and at once Holmes had pulled Kathryn aside and the two of them strolled up and down the street, examining the scenery. 


	5. 243 Oxford Street

A/N: Hello everyone! Many thanks to moonshine, who is the only one who has reviewed so far. You follow the clues very well. Once again, I do not own anything Sherlockian, except Kathryn and the now deceased Julia. Enjoy!  
  
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Chapter 5- 243 Oxford Street  
  
The bed and breakfast at 243 Oxford Street was indeed a dreary and ominous place in sharp contrast with its bustling surroundings. Located on the corner junction of Oxford Street and Regent Street, the house would be an ideal place to observe the oddities of mankind. With the everyday commotion of people from all classes, this was one of the busiest places in London. Its own appearance, however, made it a very unattractive house in contrast with the colours of everyday life. Its long eaves, Gregorian style, and dun coloured façade mirrored the sky above it, which seemed eternally, grey with clouds. Lestrade and I waited patiently on the paved steps leading to a large, oak door as Holmes and Kathryn headed down the street in an examination of the surroundings.  
  
When Holmes had declared himself satisfied with the examination of the outside, Inspector Lestrade led us into the lodgings. The inside was in complete contrast, with rich, vibrant colours in the small, yet grand hallway. We went up a narrow flight of stairs that creaked loudly as we walked upwards and went through a plainly furnished corridor to the room of the murder victim.  
  
We stepped into a small, well-proportioned room. The surroundings were cosy and comfortable, and although the room was sparsely furnished, the inner dimensions created the illusion that it was very full. All of the furniture was of a lavish style and very ornate. There was a large Oriental rug in the centre of the bare wooden floor in front of the fireplace, and this, combined with the vivid paintings adorning the wall, showed the quality of the lodging. On top of this stood a small coffee table with legs carved in the shape of a lion's claw made of a high quality mahogany. In the right corner stood a small oriental sofa made of a periwinkle blue silk. A door facing us was left slightly ajar and led into the separate bedroom. Next to this was a chest of drawers made of a solid oak with four compartments and two sliding panels.  
  
All of this I noticed later, but when we entered the room, all of our attentions were directed to the body splayed out in a pool of blood on the floor before us.  
  
I had only heard of Julia Stamford once from Holmes, and never had the chance to meet her face to face when she was alive. Holmes had always told me that Julia was beautiful, but on looking upon her face now, I could see that this clearly was an understatement. She had long, golden-blonde hair that sparkled in the sunlight. Her watery blue eyes were half-open, with a look of anger and surprise as though looking at the evil murderer behind us. Her pale pink lips were slightly parted, almost as though she was about to utter the name of her assailant.  
  
Holmes was now examining the body, his eyes darting this way and that, trying to find some clue as to the identity of the murderer. Once satisfied, he went around to the bureau in the corner and examined both the outside and the interior.  
  
"Were there any signs of robbery?" he asked.  
  
"No," replied Lestrade quickly, "nothing seems to be missing."  
  
"Hmmm, I wouldn't be so sure." Holmes commented, and then continued his search. For half an hour, he paced around the room, gazing and examining every single inch of the room. The casual observer would see that he was scrutinising everything with care, but I, who knew him so well, could tell that he was not being as thorough as usual. He then whispered something in Kathryn's ear, and then she started to walk around the room, glancing around. At one point, she stopped, frowned, and then kneeled down to scrutinise some more, before rising again with a look of satisfaction on her face.  
  
"I think we have learned all that we can here," concluded Holmes when the inspection was complete, "I will make some inquiries, and if you would call tomorrow morning, I have no doubt that I will be able to assist you. I thank you for bringing this case to my attention, Lestrade, as this is certainly has several singular elements."  
  
"Your welcome, Mr. Holmes," replied Lestrade, bemused. "This case completely confounds me. Before you leave, would you like to interview the servants or the landlady?"  
  
"No, I don't think that will be necessary, Lestrade," insisted Holmes, "I can do more to solve the case elsewhere. I bid you good day." He then strolled out without another word, leaving Kathryn and myself in his wake rushing to catch up with him.  
  
"I think I will go and make a few inquiries now," said Holmes, after a few minutes of silence, "No, no, you need not come with me. It is purely reconnaissance or I would not dream of leaving without you. Why don't you be a good gentleman and show Miss Granger around London?"  
  
I consented, and so Kathryn and I hailed a cab, while Holmes continued to wander onward onto Regent Street.  
  
"Holmes has been acting very oddly today," I commented.  
  
"Yes, I observed that as well," replied Kathryn pensively. "There is something peculiar that is surrounding this case. However, let's not worry ourselves about it for the moment. I haven't been in London for quite a while and you promised to show me around." 


	6. A Turn for the Worse

Chapter 6- A turn for the Worse  
  
We whiled away the afternoon taking in all of the numerous spectacles of London. I showed her the Natural History Museum, the monument at Piccadilly Circus, the British art museum, the famous Madame Tussaud's, and the newly constructed Tower Bridge, among other destinations. Although I was not a very good guide, and the Jezail Bullet in my leg further hindered the jaunt, Kathryn absolutely enjoyed the trip. Her enthusiasm at all of the destinations made me appreciate the monuments even more. After almost 15 years living in London, this was the first time I looked at the landmarks properly after taking them for granted all this time. For the first time in a long while, Kathryn had reminded me of my own wife, Mary who passed away years before. Kathryn's vivacious disposition and her excitement at everything she saw was truly like Mary's own personality, and she made me laugh as I had not done so since Mary was alive.  
  
We returned to Baker Street at about 6 o'clock that evening in very high spirits, but when we entered Holmes' and my rooms, it was clear that Holmes's day did not fare as well as ours. The floor, usually spotless, was now littered with crumpled up papers and cigarette ends. Holmes himself, who seated in a wicker chair, was in a dazed trance with his introspective, steel-grey eyes, which were half closed, were gazing beyond the both of us. It took a moment or two for him to realise that we were there and when he did, he started and jumped out of his seat.  
  
"Pray excuse my actions, I did not expect that you would return from your tour so soon." He answered in reply to the expressions we wore on our faces, "You needn't be so surprised Watson, I thought you knew me well. I have not had a very progressive day, as you can plainly see."  
  
He walked slowly to the window and stared into the bustling street below. "Ah, what a day," he mused to himself, "One enigma is quickly followed by another. I have still not found my missing jack-knife. It was on the mantelpiece yesterday morning, but this morning it is gone as if it vanished into thin air. And this murder case is as unclear to me as ever." He sighed, and then continued, "Well, here is the good Inspector Lestrade. Perhaps he can clear things up a bit."  
  
A moment later, we heard a steady tread of the stairs and a knock on the door before the inspector showed himself in. A sudden change of appearance was immediately apparent to me. Lestrade's bull dog-like face was more haggard than it had ever been before, and his dark, beady eyes were visibly bulging.  
  
"Good evening, Lestrade. Pray take a seat," said Holmes cheerfully. "Did you find any documents missing, or another new development in the case?"  
  
Lestrade cautiously sat down on the chair offered to him and nervously fidgeted his hands for a moment. He then dove his hand into his pocket and took out a small, bloodied jack-knife and held it in front of Holmes.  
  
"Does this belong to you, Mr. Holmes?" he asked.  
  
Holmes took the knife and scrutinised it for a moment before handing it to me.  
  
"Does it, Watson?" he asked.  
  
I took it into my hands and carefully looked at it. It had a plain, brown handle with a silver ring engraved at the base where it was joined to the blade. The ring was inscribed with Holmes's name on it. It was the missing jack-knife from our mantelpiece.  
  
"Yes, I believe it does, unless it is a very good facsimile," I concluded, "Why do you ask, Inspector?"  
  
What he said next was the most astonishing thing he ever said before or since that time.  
  
"This was found at the scene of the crime shortly after you left" answered Lestrade morosely. He paused for a moment, as though unable to continue, then his face became hardened and he announced solemnly, "Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you are under arrest for the wilful murder of Julia Stamford. I've always respected you and your ways of attaining justice, no matter how eccentric they may seem, but this time you've gone too far."  
  
Holmes was abnormally calm through the accusations that Lestrade had indicted upon him. He just looked at him with his introspective look until Lestrade had finished and continued to stare at him with a gaze that would have brought many strong men to their knees.  
  
"Is there anything else that you would like to add, Lestrade?" said Holmes quietly, maintaining his usual sharpness of expression.  
  
Lestrade, almost quailing under Holmes's gaze, managed to reply in a small voice: "Mr. Holmes, come with me."  
  
He then led Holmes, who offered no resistance, slowly outside. Kathryn and I quickly strode over to the window, where we saw Lestrade usher Holmes into a brougham, climb in himself, then the carriage rattled away. 


	7. Scotland Yard

A/N: Ahhh, the plot thickens. please R/R. I only own Kathryn here as the rest belongs to Doyle. Enjoy!  
  
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Chapter 7- Scotland Yard  
  
"Well, this is certainly an unexpected predicament," commented Kathryn a moment later. "I suspect they will be back later to question us about his whereabouts."  
  
"This is unbelievable!" I exclaimed when I had recovered from my initial shock. "Holmes would never have done anything of the sort! It is true that he bent the law a few times in the past, but it was all in the name of justice. I'm sure that he would never go as far as to kill anyone in cold blood!"  
  
I stopped at this moment to see Kathryn's reaction to this. I was amazed at the composure that she kept through these singular circumstances. Indeed, she appeared to be unusually calm considering the given circumstances, as though she had expected this to happen.  
  
Kathryn saw the surprise in my eyes and said simply, "You are very right to be astonished at my reaction, doctor. The reason why I anticipated this outcome is that Holmes had forewarned me of it. He suspected something of this manner would occur sooner or later."  
  
"Wait a moment; you knew that this was going to happen?" I asked incredulously, raising my voice more than I ought to have. "This is just more excitement than I bargained for in a day. How could he have known unless he actually is guilty?"  
  
"Calm yourself, doctor," said Kathryn sternly, "You of all people should know that Holmes would never have killed anyone. Inspector Lestrade seems to think otherwise, however, and the evidence is against him. It is our task to discover the truth and in doing so, we will either confirm or disprove his guilt, though my instinct points to the latter.  
  
"Our first action is to go to Scotland Yard. If we are to help Holmes, we must get some answers from him as to why he has been acting so strangely."  
  
We had set off once again in a hansom and within fifteen minutes, we arrived at New Scotland Yard. We were shown into Inspector Lestrade's office, and half an hour later, the detective was at the door and had motioned us into chairs.  
  
"This is very unconventional for you to have come," he said after he took a seat. "Still, it saves me a trip down to Baker Street to interview you. After all, you were in the company of the suspect both before and after the crime was committed."  
  
"You don't seriously consider him as being capable of committing such a heinous crime?" I asked disbelievingly. "You should know, after working with him on so many cases that he is incapable of it."  
  
"You may think that, but you cannot deny the evidence," countered Lestrade, "Mr. Holmes is our only suspect so far, and the case is overwhelmingly black against him. After all, Mr. Holmes is a very secretive person with many aspects of his personality unknown to any of us. You may not know him as well as you think you know him."  
  
There was no answer to this that I could think of, so sombre silence hung over us for a while. It was Kathryn who broke the silence.  
  
"Is it possible for us to see Mr. Holmes after the interview?" she asked quietly.  
  
"I don't see why not," answered Lestrade. "I must warn you, however, that you will be under surveillance. I will take you myself after the interview."  
  
As Lestrade had been speaking, Tobias Gregson entered the room quietly. He had apparently heard the news, and he was as shocked as we were. His usual neat, wavy flaxen hair was now discomposed and his normally vibrant face was now sallow and sunken in, making him look about twenty years older than he actually was.  
  
"Miss Granger, this is Inspector Gregson, who is also working on this case. He will be interviewing you," said Lestrade.  
  
"If you'll follow me, miss" Gregson said as he motioned for the door. Kathryn rose from her chair, and slowly walked out of the room, followed by the sombre inspector.  
  
"Now," muttered Lestrade, after they had left, "Why don't I just interview you here?" He took out a piece of paper, his official notebook, and a thin, black fountain pen. He first scribbled down something on the piece of paper, before he started the interview. "Tell me, Dr. Watson," he began. "Has Mr. Holmes been acting strange lately?"  
  
"Well, he has been a little preoccupied lately," I answered carefully, "but it's nothing out of the ordinary. He has many different moods and is preoccupied quite often."  
  
"All right then," Lestrade continued. "What were your movements yesterday?"  
  
"I was with Holmes for most of the day," I replied. "In the first part of the day, we were in our rooms. I was reading a new medical treatise on the diagnosis and treatment of rheumatism. Holmes, I remember, was doing one of his chemical experiments.  
  
"In the evening, Miss Granger arrived at our rooms at about 6 o'clock. We then went to Covent Garden to listen to the Summer Music Festival. After that, we dined at a local restaurant before we parted ways. Miss Granger took a cab back to her lodgings, and I left Holmes, taking another cab back home. For the rest of the evening, I read a bit of my novel before retiring at about midnight."  
  
"Where did Holmes go?" asked Lestrade distractedly, as he was scribbling down notes of my statement.  
  
"He told me that he was going to visit his brother, Mycroft," I answered. "May I ask you a question?" I continued.  
  
Lestrade glanced up from his notes, a little surprised at the question, but answered courteously, "Of course Dr. Watson, but I must warn you that it will have to be on the record."  
  
"I would prefer it if it were not," I responded with a sigh. "Still, if it must be, then let it be so." I added quickly, seeing a frown on Lestrade's bulldog-like face starting to form. "Why have you asked me these questions about Holmes's whereabouts? Haven't you already interrogated him and come up with a statement of his movements throughout the day?"  
  
"Well, we have," Lestrade answered the frown on his face changing into a small smile, "The reason I am asking you this is to make sure that his statement is true, and that the testimony collaborates with other witnesses, such as yourself."  
  
"Now, continuing with the interrogation," continued Lestrade, "What were your actions today?"  
  
"First of all, I'd like to say that Holmes returned after I retired. I am a sound sleeper so I do not know when he returned. When I walked into the living room this morning, I saw that Holmes was back and had already started to eat breakfast. I joined him and he commented upon the disappearance of his jack-knife. After breakfast, I had settled down to reading my medical treatise. Soon afterwards, Miss Granger called, closely followed by you. I think you can recall what happened."  
  
At this, Lestrade looked up at me and raised one eyebrow, before commenting, "Yes, Dr. Watson, I can recall. You do not need to tell me what happened when I was present. What happened after you had left? Where did you go?"  
  
"Holmes said that he was going to make some inquiries and recommended that I show Miss Granger some landmarks around London. She has not been here for a long time. I took her around London and showed some of the 'sites,' as the Americans call it, and we returned to Baker Street at around 6 o'clock. At that time, you came and made the arrest. Now you know everything."  
  
"Thank you for you patience," said Lestrade gratefully, "I have but one more question to ask you. Is there any reason or circumstance in the past that would prompt Mr. Holmes into murdering Miss Stamford? Speak truthfully, now."  
  
At this question, I became very angry, "Really, Inspector, I think that you can answer your own question!" I replied hotly.  
  
"Doctor, please just answer the question!" countered Lestrade, becoming more impertinent each second.  
  
"I think you should remember, since you were on the case, and it was barely a year ago when it happened!" I snapped. I then took a deep breath to steady my nerves, before continuing, "Julia Stamford aided the kidnapping of Holmes and his brother, Mycroft. That is the only reason I can think of, but it hardly constitutes as a valid motive for murder!"  
  
"Thank you Dr. Watson, you have been very helpful. If you will now sign your statement, I will take you and Miss Granger to see the suspect."  
  
"Holmes has helped you on countless cases and has brought and kept your reputation where it is." I remarked vehemently, "The least you can do is to call him by his name. You owe him that much."  
  
"After what he has done, I do not owe him anything," replied Lestrade apathetically, before silently leading me outside.  
  
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	8. Interview With the Accused

A/N: I don't own anything Sherlockian, except Kathryn. Please R/R: criticisms and flames are welcome. Enjoy!  
  
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Chapter 8- Interview With the Accused  
  
We walked down a narrow corridor, which lead into the offices of all the detectives of the yard. At the end of the corridor, there was a wide spiral staircase, where we met up with Kathryn and Gregson. The four of us then went down the stairs and continued down several progressively narrow flights of stairs, until we reached the prison level. There were many rows of prison cells, filled with men of various degrees of filth. We continued to walk along the passage until we came to Holmes's cell. Under the circumstances, Holmes was unusually clean compared with his fellow inmates. He had been pacing, alone, in his cell, but when he saw us, he stood facing us wearing an amused expression on his face.  
  
"Ah, Lestrade, I see that my friends have come to honour me with a visit." He said with a sparkle in his eye. "What brings you to my very humble abode?"  
  
"A have some questions I need to ask you," replied Kathryn, the sharpness of her eyes betraying the seriousness of the situation.  
  
"We'll be over there if you need us," Lestrade cut in. "Come, Gregson, we have other things to do." The two detectives made their way out of the prison cells, but still stayed just within earshot.  
  
"I am glad to find you in such good spirits." I remarked.  
  
"Considering what I've been through today, I'm very surprised at my mood, but there you have it. I know I'm in good hands," said Holmes, eyeing Kathryn with an expression I have never seen him use before.  
  
"I will do my best, but I will need your help," replied Kathryn, with a smile, "Why did you go to Julia Stamford last night?" she asked, turning serious again.  
  
Holmes paused at this question, as though considering how to answer. He finally replied quietly, "I will not try to deceive you, as I know that you will easily see through it. I know you too well to do that, old friend.  
  
"As you know, my brother, Mycroft, deals with many government affairs. Sometimes he asks me to help him with some of these problems. Last week, he asked me to take on an assignment for him.  
  
"Several years ago, during the time that the late lamented Professor Moriarty was still in the land of the living, there had been several plans made to construct a sonar detection system using electromagnetic waves in Germany. It was still in the developmental stage, and no one could make the device work. The mathematics involved was too challenging for anyone to solve.  
  
"The problem eventually came to Moriarty. He worked on it for several years and eventually straightened out all of the knots of the formula. After the professor's death, the solution was lost to the world- that is, until now. About a month ago, the government received intelligence that the lost formula was found once again. The bad news was that it was in the hands of Moriarty's second in command, Colonel Moran, who was still on the run. When the government discovered that Moran had returned to London using one of his many aliases, my brother came to me to ask if I could track down Colonel Moran and recover the plans.  
  
"After two weeks of inquiries, I had discovered that Julia Stamford had been staying for the past three months at the Oxford Street establishment, still in the company of Moran, and more importantly, that the plans were in her possession. I talked to her brother, your friend, Watson, Peter Stamford, to ask for his help. We agreed that if Miss Stamford would consent, I could arrange for them to talk and reunite, perhaps in return for the plans.  
  
"On the night of the murder, I left Watson to pay a visit to Miss Stamford and negotiate the terms. At first, she was adamant, but after a while, I managed to work out the transaction. I managed to determine that she was becoming lonely and homesick. Moran, whom she had loved, was with her less, and she often had nothing to do. She eventually discovered that he was with another woman. This broke her heart, and in revenge, she planned to rid herself of him. She longed to see her brother for at least one more time to explain her actions in the past before she left, but feared that he would not want the same thing. Before I left that evening, we had made an agreement. She would give me the plans, and I would bring her brother to her. She also planned to help me arrest Moran.  
  
"With the deal done, I left to report to Mycroft with the success. Little did I know that it would turn into such a failure. I had been so close to my goal, and now it slipped once again beyond my grasp. That is the reason why I was so distressed this morning. When I arrived at the crime scene, I discovered something very disturbing. I observed that the rooms had been rearranged to make it seem that I was the perpetrator. You will remember, Granger, that I told you as such. I made a quick examination of the premises and discovered no clue as to whom the real murderer was. The scoundrel who managed to pull this off was very clever and did a great job. The use of my jack-knife as the murder weapon was an especially devilish touch."  
  
As Holmes had been speaking, Kathryn was looking at him all the while, her startlingly green eyes becoming piercing and introspective. It was as though she was reading his mind to see if he was telling the truth. With his account complete, she now asked:  
  
"Do you have any inclination as to who the real perpetrator is?"  
  
Holmes rubbed his chin and thought for a moment, before replying, "There is only one man capable of doing such a thing, although I was surprised at his ingenuity in handling this case. The only man who would have been able to pull this off, and have a motive to do it would be Colonel Moran. "  
  
"Why do you think so?" asked Kathryn, ignoring my audible gasp.  
  
"I saw one of Moran's informants following me in a disguise on my way to Miss Stamford's lodgings last night," replied Holmes. "I managed to lose him, but I'm certain there were more of them lurking about in the shadows."  
  
"Hmm, well, thank you for your information, Holmes," Kathryn said, a smile appearing on her face, "I think this case will be a hard shell to crack, but with a little luck, you'll be out of jail in less than a week. I think we have done enough for tonight, Doctor," she continued, turning to me, "Tomorrow we shall start early and ask what Holmes's brother makes of all this."  
  
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Holmes commented sceptically, "Mycroft is solely devoted to his job. He won't tell you anything if he thinks it might endanger the British government, no matter how small."  
  
"He is your brother, Holmes," admonished Kathryn sternly. "You have too little faith in your family and friends. I will make him help, somehow."  
  
She then bade Holmes goodnight and walked out with a swift step, leaving me to run after her. 


	9. Mr Peter Stamford

Chapter 9- Mr. Peter Stamford  
  
Kathryn called upon me promptly at 9 o'clock the next morning, just after I had finished my breakfast.  
  
"Our first course of action is to talk to the brother of the dead woman, Peter Stamford," she said without preamble. "I assume that you have taken a great interest in this case and shall want to come with me."  
  
"Of course," I replied, somewhat defensively, "I want to see Holmes out of this predicament as soon as possible. I have known him for nearly twenty years- hopefully, well enough to know that he could not possibly have committed the crime. I don't want to see an innocent man hanged for a crime he did not commit."  
  
Kathryn fixed her stunningly green eyes on to me and with an introspective gaze that would make grown men collapse at her feet. I felt as though she could read my very thoughts and was growing increasingly uncomfortable, when her face broke into a smile, and she said:  
  
"Very well then, doctor. As I see that you have already breakfasted, let us leave at once."  
  
I instructed the landlady, Mrs Hudson to hail a cab, and fifteen minutes later, we were rattling away down Gloucester Road. "What do you plan to ask Stamford?" I asked,  
  
"I plan to do what Holmes did, and ask him what he knew of his sister," replied Kathryn, "It will give me information and a starting point in this investigation."  
  
We did not speak another word until we reached my old friend's Kensington home situated in a quiet neighbourhood. It has always been my opinion, that everything from the Victorian veranda in the front, to the elegantly arched eaves on the roof, that the Stamford house was a very cosy and pleasing home. The maid, an old, deaf little woman with a haggard, lost look on her face and squinted eyes opened the door, and when I gave her my card, she made a silent start of surprise and stared at me with a pair of puckered eyes.  
  
"Dr. Watson," said she, in a husky, Irish-accented voice. "I have not seen you in a long time. Please, come in."  
  
She ushered us to into the house, through a succession of corridors and up two flights of stairs, before stopping at the door of a small study.  
  
"He's in there, Dr. Watson," she announced quietly, before slipping away inconspicuously behind us. After my initial shock at her behaviour had subsided, I stepped forward into the threshold of the tiny room. It was a sparsely furnished, dimly lit room, which was oddly proportioned, with the ceiling being much higher than the length of the walls. There was a man silhouetted against the large French windows behind him with his tall, gaunt back facing towards us. At the sound of our footsteps, he quickly turned around. I could not tell the expression of his face, but when he spoke, it was with a tone of sorrow one associates with someone who has lost much.  
  
"Watson," he said quietly, his ragged voice little more than an audible whisper. "It was very nice of you to come here and visit me. How have you been?"  
  
"Well, thank you," I replied, a little concerned. "Stamford, my friend, let me introduce you to Miss Kathryn Granger. She is my friend, and has come to London on a quick visit."  
  
"Pleased to meet, you, Mr. Stamford," said Kathryn, extending out her hand, "I have heard much of you from Dr. Watson."  
  
"Miss Granger, a pleasure, wondrous pleasure in meeting you, I am sure." muttered Stamford distractedly, ignoring the extended hand.  
  
"Are you all right?" I asked, now very perturbed by the action of my old friend.  
  
"Yes, yes, John, I'm perfectly fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?" Stamford answered agitatedly, and now began to pace back and forth across the room, muttering to himself all the while. He then turned suddenly and grabbed Kathryn by the arm, and yelled with a maddened look in his eyes:  
  
"Why? Why did this have to happen to me? Of all the things that could have happened, this had to be it. What did I do wrong to deserve this? Am I that bad of a man?"  
  
"Please compose yourself," said Kathryn firmly yet soothingly, half dragging him to a nearby chair. "Your sister left you on her own will, and her fate was not anything that you could have determined."  
  
She placed Stamford onto an easy chair, and I poured him a glass of brandy. His pale, sallow cheeks now had a touch of colour in it, and his dull, blue eyes regained a little of its old sparkle.  
  
"Thank you both," he said, once he had recovered enough to speak. "The police came and told me the news yesterday, and ever since then, I've been like this.  
  
"I can't believe this has actually happened. I had warned Julie that something like this would happen and she would be sorry, but I never wanted it to occur. The worst thing is that the last time we talked, we had a big quarrel, and I shouted at her. I was too harsh on her, I admit it, but at the time, I thought it was for her sake.  
  
"Now I'll never have a chance to apologize to her and I'll spend the rest of my life knowing that she had hated me when she died."  
  
Unable to control himself any longer, Stamford burst into hysterical tears, and wept on my shoulder.  
  
"Just let him be," whispered Kathryn in my ear. "We can come and see him later. Right now, he needs to be alone."  
  
With that, we quietly walked out of the room and left Stamford sobbing on the chair, trapped in his own agony. 


	10. The Search for Hope

A/N: I still don't own anything except Kathryn. Please R/R! Enjoy!  
  
Chapter 10- The Search for Hope  
  
"Our next course of action is to go back to the scene of the crime," said Kathryn once we were back in a hansom. "Holmes was deliberately careless when he was investigating it. He knew that he was going to be accused, so he did not wish to bring any compromising evidence into light."  
  
"We, on the other hand," she continued sternly, "must be objective. If Holmes really did commit the murder, no matter how small that possibility, we still must find the evidence. It is for us to find the truth."  
  
An hour later, we were back at the scene of the crime. Little had changed of the modest bed and breakfast except the removal of the body. Only a small pool of blood was left to remind us of what had been there before. The bedroom seemed curiously large and empty, now that Julia Stamford had been removed. As we entered, a tiny ray of light shone in from the window landing upon the spot where the deceased had been, giving me an eerie feeling that sent a chill down my spine. Inspector Gregson was at the scene of the crime and greeted us, somewhat more coldly than was usual.  
  
"Dr. Watson, and Miss Granger, it's nice to see you again," said he as we shook hands, "I am surprised to see you again here, as my colleague Mr. Lestrade has informed me that you have been here before."  
  
"It is true, inspector," answered Kathryn in a sweet and innocent voice, "but my powers of observation and deduction do not surpass those of Mr. Holmes. You must be patient with me and allow me to examine the scene of the crime once again."  
  
"As you wish, Miss Granger," said he with a sigh. "I'm afraid you won't find much here. Well, I'll be downstairs if you need me"  
  
He turned and went out through the door.  
  
"Well, now we can get down to work," said Kathryn with a sigh. With that, she immediately began to pace silently around the room, with much more care than before. The floor, mantelpiece, table, sofa, paintings, and chest of drawers all were minutely inspected in their due order. Several times Kathryn stopped at a place of interest and once she knelt down to pick up some particles of dust and put them into a small yellow envelope. She continued to do this for an hour until her meticulous gaze examined everything. She truly reminded me of the ways Holmes had examined a crime scene before me so many times in the past. When she rose again, I saw on her face a graver look than before, but there was a sparkle in her eyes that told me there was hope yet for our mutual friend.  
  
"It seems that our friend, Holmes, has not given the proper credit to the good Colonel Moran," commented she as she completed her search. "Even Inspector Lestrade would have been able to determine the clues that point to Holmes's guilt. There are, however some minute traces of evidence, which point to a very different assailant. There is a strand of short silver hair on the sofa, an ornately carved ivory snuffbox standing on the side cupboard, and the dust inside this." She held up the little envelope between her softly tapered fingers.  
  
"These clues may help us build up a case for our friend," she continued. "They are the most positive evidence I've seen all day, but the hope might flicker out. Only time will tell." 


	11. Miss Jennifer Thompson

A/N: I'm Extremely sorry for my delay in this story. I hit upon several bumps in the plot and have taken the time to sort out the problem. I now have the entire plot of the story laid out, and rest assured, this story will be complete. Unfortunately, I'm only revising this chapter for now, since it is sort of necessary for later on. Hopefully the next chapter will come soon. Thank you very much to all the people who reviewed my story so far, your words are very encouraging to me. Please continue to R/R and tell me any suggestions you want to see happen to the story. Once Again, I don't own anyone in this story apart from Kathryn Granger. And now, enjoy!  
  
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Chapter 11- Miss Jennifer Thompson  
  
We left the bedroom of the deceased and slowly proceeded down the stairs to where Inspector Gregson stood talking to a constable.  
  
"Inspector," called Kathryn, "Would you please have the kindness to gather up all of the servants in the kitchen so that I may ask them a few questions?"  
  
"Certainly, Miss Granger," replied the inspector with a sympathetic grin on his face. "But I won't guarantee anything out of them. The case is hopeless against Holmes the way I see it. You could be doing so many more productive things than moping around this melancholy place." He continued to smile at her and it seemed to me that he had actually taken a fancy toward her.  
  
"Thank you very much for your concern, Inspector," responded Kathryn, "but I don't mind 'moping around' here at all. There is something about this place that stimulates the creative juices of a writer. Perhaps I will gain fresh ideas for my novel if I do not gain anything else."  
  
"As you wish, Miss Granger," said the Inspector before turning to gather the servants.  
  
"If I hadn't known better, I would say that the good inspector is taking a fancy to you," I said, chuckling.  
  
"Well, I think you might just be right," she responded, smiling as her emerald eyes twinkled with glee. "Perhaps I will be able to use this to my own advantage. But never mind that now, we have work to do."  
  
We went into the kitchen, a sparsely furnished, yet oddly modern room. There was a large oak table in the middle of the room, with six chairs standing around it. The landlady and two other servants were standing behind these chairs patiently awaiting our questions.  
  
"Would you please have the kindness to step outside so that I may ask your employer some questions?" asked Kathryn kindly. The two servants consented and curtsied themselves out of the room.  
  
"Pray take a seat," said Kathryn, taking one of the chairs at the table herself. "Well, now that we are both comfortable, I have some questions I need to ask you, and I hope that you will be fair with me in answering truthfully."  
  
With that preamble, Kathryn started to question the landlady. Kathryn's technique of interrogating was indeed, very similar to that of Holmes. Both had the gift of being very soothing when needed. The landlady started to be very tense, as the whole situation caused her much stress, but as soon as she gazed into those sparkling emerald eyes of Kathryn's, an almost hypnotic effect occurred and she soon calmed down.  
  
The landlady revealed that she heard nothing on the day of the murder, as she retired early that evening. When asked why, she responded by saying that she felt ill and had a headache after dinner. She then responded that she felt fine the next day. When asked what kind of food she ate for dinner, the landlady responded that she had eaten the curry that the servants had prepared.  
  
When the interview concluded, Kathryn thanked the landlady before beckoning the first maid to enter the room.  
  
A few moments later, the first maid stepped into the room. The interview was brief and Kathryn had received similar answers as to the ones she had gotten from the landlady.  
  
"The situation grows curious," she mused as the first maid left the room at the conclusion of the interview. "I wonder if the curry has anything to do with this."  
  
"The curry?" I asked, "What does that have to do with anything?"  
  
"Don't you find it singular, that the cook was serving such a spicy dish in the summer, when the temperature is so warm?"  
  
"Well, I suppose it is an odd event," I conceded.  
  
"It may be just a trivial coincidence," observed Kathryn, "but it could also be the clue we were looking for. I want to follow it as far as it can carry us."  
  
As she was speaking, the second maid stepped into the room. She was a short, slightly plump woman in her mid-20s, with sandy coloured hair and a pair of piercing grey eyes, framed behind a pair of horn-rimmed glasses with large, rectangular lenses. She eyed both of us suspiciously and stood before us almost defiantly.  
  
"Please, have a seat," said Kathryn warmly. "My name is Kathryn Granger, and this is Dr. Watson," she continued, motioning towards me. "As you are aware, we are investigating the murder of Miss Julia Stamford, who was previously residing in these lodgings. We would be obliged if you answered few questions."  
  
"I hope to be of as much service as I can," replied the maid indifferently. "My name is Jennifer Thompson."  
  
"Miss Thompson, how long have you been employed here?" Kathryn asked.  
  
"I've been working here for almost a year now, Miss Granger," Jennifer replied.  
  
"I understand that your employer, fellow employee and you turned in early on the night of the murder. Can you tell me why?"  
  
"I retired early that night because I was tired and I felt a severe headache beginning to form," explained Jennifer. "I didn't want to get to work the next day with a headache, so I decided to turn in early. Had I known that the murder would have occurred, I would have most certainly stayed awake and tried to help the poor lodger."  
  
"At what time did you retire?" asked Kathryn.  
  
"I retired at half past nine that night; an hour before my usual bedtime." Jennifer answered.  
  
"Miss Thompson, you have been quite frank with me so far," commented Kathryn soothingly, "and I'll hope you'll be frank in answering the question that I will now pose to you."  
  
"I will be as frank as I possibly can," said Jennifer, with a determined look upon her face.  
  
"What is your opinion of the events that happened on the night of the murder?" asked Kathryn with a piercing look on her face "Do you truly believe that Mr. Holmes is responsible for this heinous crime?"  
  
For the briefest of moments, there was a glint of anger and deep suspicion that shone into those pale, grey eyes, which belonged to the maid.  
  
"Mr. Holmes, as I have heard, is capable of most anything," she replied simply.  
  
It seemed that was just what Kathryn had expected. She dismissed the maid with a sigh, and then turned to the landlady once more before taking leave.  
  
"I beg your pardon, but may I search the rooms of yourself and of all the servants you employ here? Under the circumstances, I feel that it is necessary for the success of this case."  
  
"Well, I suppose, if it is absolutely necessary," replied the landlady grudgingly, a little surprised. "But I thought that the case was already solved and the perpetrator was safely in prison."  
  
"The case is by no means closed and I have reason to believe that the police have gotten the wrong man," explained Kathryn.  
  
"Really?" asked the landlady in amazement. "Well, I hope you find the real villain who did this. Please, come this way."  
  
The landlady started up the stairs, beckoning us to follow. After turning down a narrow corridor on the left, she stopped in front of a row of stained oak doors, each with elegant carvings of hyacinths on the frames.  
  
"This is my room," stated the landlady as she pointed toward the door in front of us, "and the servants' rooms are down the hall," she continued before turning to go back down the stairs.  
  
Without a word, Kathryn quickly strode to the end of the corridor and went into the bedroom at the end. I went after her and found her looking in the closet by the small bed.  
  
Kathryn systematically shuffled through all the dresses and undergarments before she found a small envelope with a broken seal made of lustrous purple wax with a strange ( imprinted upon it. Kathryn carefully opened the envelope and tipped out to contents to reveal a small amount of a fine, white, powdery substance.  
  
"Interesting," Kathryn mused quietly, with her glittering, green eyes hardening as she put some of the powder into a small, white envelope, before folding it up and placing into a pocket hidden among the numerous folds of her skirt.  
  
Kathryn continued looking through the maid's trunk until she found an ornately carved jewellery box made of pine, and opened it. There was a single ring of pure gold with a tiger's eye gemstone set around a ring of diamonds. Inside the band was inscription, "Tigerlily" upon it.  
  
"Keep these things in mind," whispered Kathryn as she closed the lid on the jewellery box, "and not a word to another soul about this."  
  
Kathryn then promptly stood up and stepped out of the room. I quickly followed her out of the room and saw her rushing down the stairs to meet the landlady.  
  
"I trust that you have found everything is to your satisfaction, Miss Granger," said the landlady. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"  
  
"Actually, I will only ask you one more question before we take our leave," replied Kathryn. "Did any of the servants receive messages around the time of the murder?"  
  
The landlady sunk her brow deep in thought, then replied, "Why, yes. I received a telegram from my brother in the States, and one more arrived for Miss Stamford. Why do you ask?"  
  
"Oh, it was just a thought. Would you happen to have the telegrams here?  
  
"I'm sorry," she said, "Our maids empty the litter bins daily."  
  
Kathryn seemed disappointed, but I still saw that there was much hope in her.  
  
"Thank you very much for your assistance," said Kathryn as she headed for the front door. "It appears that I have taken enough of your precious time. I bid you good day."  
  
We hailed a brougham, which Kathryn directed to the post office. We stepped out into the sunshine and ambled briskly into the postal office. Kathryn immediately went to the office of the chief clerk and introduced herself.  
  
"Good afternoon, sir. My name is Kathryn Granger, and this is my companion, Dr. John Watson. I am here to perform a service on behalf of Mr. Sherlock Holmes, whom I'm sure you've heard of."  
  
The clerk looked up at her from his desk with amused air. "I would be happy to assist Mr. Holmes in any way possible. What can I do for you?"  
  
Kathryn gave him her warmest smile of appreciation, and then said, "I need copies of the two telegrams sent to the bed and board at 243, Oxford Street."  
  
"Of course, miss. Let me check our records." The clerk rummaged in his files for a few minutes.  
  
"Aha! Here you are: all three telegrams."  
  
Kathryn looked suspicious, her eyes narrowing and her brow furrowing. "I thought there were only two: one for the landlady and one for the deceased."  
  
The clerk scanned the papers, and then said, "Yes, those are here. There is also one for a Miss Jennifer Thompson." 


	12. Reminisces

A/N: Thank you very much to all of those who reviewed my story so far. I really appreciate all the encouragement and suggestions you offer me. Chapter 11 is revised to make sure the plot fits later on, and Chapter 12 is late because of a slight plot change. The story is not complete but will be. Please R/R. Enjoy!  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Sherlockian characters except Kathryn Granger and Jennifer Thomas.  
  
There was another telegram! Why did no one else know of it? Kathryn looked not in the least surprised.  
  
"Really? May I have those papers? I will return them as soon as I am finished. Thank you. The doctor and I must be off."  
  
"Very well. I hope I was of assistance to you. Good day!"  
  
Kathryn and I hailed another cab and were at once hurtling towards Kensington as we made our way back to the lodgings of Peter Stamford. As the hansom rattled through the cobbled streets, Kathryn sat through the hansom ride with the same mysterious, intellectual expression in her startling, introspective green eyes that I'd so often seen from Holmes.  
  
We paid the cabbie and continued to walk down the busy street. Kathryn immediately set to work upon the telegrams. She seemed satisfied with the first two telegrams. The first was, as the landlady had said, from her brother in the States. The one to Ms. Stamford was from a Mr. Markus Fleming It was a simple letter, it seemed, from a past lover.  
  
Kathryn's interest peaked when she opened and examined the telegram to Miss Thompson. It, too, was from Markus Fleming. This one, though, was a very singular communication that ran as such:  
  
tigerlily:  
  
ifs ittt mm aj i m pi e  
lfio e ht  
uontelmgat  
hfn o eee -- mf  
  
"Doctor, pray tell me what you make of this."  
  
I took the message in my hands and stared at it for maybe a minute or more trying to fathom its meaning.  
  
"I'm afraid," said I, "that I can't get much out of this. All I could tell you is that somebody doesn't want somebody else to know something."  
  
Kathryn laughed aloud at my utter bewilderment. "Let's see what Mr. Mycroft Holmes could do with this." She took out a pocket watch from a pocket hidden among the numerous folds of her electric blue dress and glanced at it, before saying, "It is one o'clock, too early to call upon Mycroft. We shall lunch now, then return to Peter Stamford. I have a feeling that he will be able to help us in this investigation."  
  
With that, she turned her gaze towards the passing street, and did not utter another word until we had stopped at the restaurant.  
  
After a hurried luncheon, we rushed off again towards Kensington, arriving soon after 2 o'clock. We were once again at the doorstep of my old friend Stamford's home. The old servant once again opened the door for us, this time looking more haggard and harassed than before.  
  
"Fancy seeing you two here again so soon," she grumbled and sighed as she let us in. "Please help Mr. Stamford, doctor," She continued, more pleadingly, "I'm at my wit's end. There is nothing I can do about him. He's calmed down a bit, but I am still afraid of that lost expression in his eyes. I shudder to think what he might do in this state."  
  
"We will do what we can for him," I replied in as soothing a voice as I could muster. I myself had grown worried about my friend's well being, after seeing him in his crazed state only a few hours ago. The maid, however seemed comforted at my words, and she at once showed us into the library, where Stamford was collapsed in a chair, with a look of despair in his hasty blue eyes.  
  
"W-Watson, o-old friend, how n-nice of you to c-call upon me again," he stuttered. "I s-see you've br-ought your f-friend. Wh-what can I do for you?"  
  
"Perhaps we should sit down for this," I said calmly. "My friend here would like to ask you a few questions concerning Julia. I know this may be painful for you but by answering you will help bring justice to the one who did this to her."  
  
"I thought that the man responsible was Sherlock Holmes, that bloody bastard, and that he's already in jail," Stamford responded bitterly, his eyes hardening into flints. "I can't believe that I actually was friends with him before."  
  
I was about to respond when Kathryn help up her hand and said in her calmest voice, "We have reason to believe that the man accused of this crime is innocent. Think about this, Mr. Stamford," she continued, kneeling in front of him with her sparkling green eyes pleading to my old friend, kneeling in front of him with her sparkling green eyes pleading to my old friend, "Would you want your sister to be the cause of the death of an innocent person?"  
  
Stamford lifted his gaze to look at her in the eye and for a moment, the faded blue orbs met and connected with the forest green ones and he peered sadly into the emerald depths of her gaze as a silent understanding came upon the two souls.  
  
"I will do what I can for your friend, Watson. I want justice to be served more than anyone else and I want the man who did this to my poor Julie punished," he said, still gazing at Kathryn in what appeared an awed look, but regaining some of the old lively spark in his eyes.  
  
"Thank you very much," said Kathryn gratefully, smiling as she stood up once again. "Tell me a little about your sister, Mr. Stamford," she prompted quietly.  
  
Stamford sat up, leaning his arm weekly against the side of his comfortable chair.  
  
"Julie and I were very close, ever since we were young," he said. "She was my little sister and after our parents died, I had become her protector in this world. She was an angel to me, the beacon of light in my hard life. We were left with hardly any money, so I worked as a bellboy to cover our living expenses. After I received my education and started to work at St. Bart's hospital, I started to grow distant from her. We spent less and less time together due to my busy work schedule. At first, it was little things, like missing lunches and coming home late. However, when the shifts lengthened, there was even less time to spend with her.  
  
"At the time, Julie seemed to be fine with the arrangement. She had taken up work as a secretary at a small solicitor's office and seemed very happy at the thought of making money. As time passed, however, she grew sombre and melancholy. I was at the time too busy to notice, but now I that look back; it is obvious that she was depressed. About two years had passed and when I was invited to go to India, where an old friend of mine was staying. I asked Julie if she wanted to come with me but she refused. I had left behind enough money for her to live on, with the hope of finding her as well as she was when I left her.  
  
"The visit turned out to be longer than I intended; my friend had been suffering from a rare flu, and I had nursed him slowly back to health. I spent a full two years in India and by the time I returned to England, I found that a much happier looking Julie had already met Mr. Markus Fleming. At first, he seemed to be the perfect gentleman; he was always very kind and courteous. I was happy for them, because I could tell that he had brought back some of the fire in Julie's soul. However, as time passed, I noticed there was something wrong about the man. I'm not sure what prompted my reaction, but there was something about his icy, blue eyes, which always held a cold, expressionless gaze, that made me suspicious of him."  
  
He stood up suddenly from his chair, stepped across the room to an ornately carved ebony bureau, and opened its doors with a loud creak. Stamford then reached his sinewy arms in and from within its depths took out a small, framed picture of Julia Stamford and a tall, handsome young man.  
  
"Here is a picture of the two of them, taken just before just after I returned from India."  
  
Kathryn took the picture and examined it carefully before handing it to me. A very happy Julia was standing in a flowering garden with her light hair falling gracefully onto her elegant shoulders. Her whole expression was one of life and vigour, plainly seen by the pose of her shoulders and sweetness of her smile, nothing like the Julia Holmes described to me after his kidnap. She was standing hand in hand accompanied by a man in his early 40's. The man was also smiling, but it had not reached icy cold eyes. He looked exactly like a younger, clean-shaven version of Colonel Moran, with his heavyset jaw and his already balding head.  
  
"Mr. Fleming had visited us on and off for about a year, the frequency of his visits increasing towards the end of that time. I had warned Julie that Fleming was up to no good, but she was very stubborn and would not listen to a word of it. We had many arguments over the matter. Then, one day Julie vanished without so much as a letter explaining why or where she had gone. I was at my wits end at what to do about the situation when she actually condescended to write me one last letter of parting.  
  
"Her words were so distant that I felt she was a completely different person from the sister that I knew and loved. She told me that she was no longer happy living with me and feeling worthless about herself. She told me that she had gone off to live a better life with Mr. Fleming. It was the last I ever knew about her until the police told me about her death."  
  
Stamford then buried his tear filled face into his hands and cried, filling the room with sounds of anguish and pain. Kathryn put a hand upon his shoulder and looked at him intently and sympathetically until his heart- wrenching sobs subsided.  
  
"Thank you very much for telling us your story. I am truly sorry for what happened to Julia," she placated soothingly, her sparkling, green eyes filled with understanding as she gazed upon him. "Let me assure you that what happened was none of your fault. As I said before, there was no way that you could have known what was going to happen. You did what you thought was best in you own interests and the interests of your sister. It was her decision to leave you, and you couldn't have prevented her even if you had known."  
  
"Thank you, Miss Granger," said Stamford, a small light returning to his dull, blue eyes. "I hope I have been of assistance to you in your investigation. If there is anything else I can help you with, please feel free to let me know."  
  
Kathryn was lost in thought for a few moments, before looking at Stamford with a small smile and a twinkle in her emerald green eyes.  
  
"You said that you lived in India for a period of time, yes?" she asked.  
  
"Yes, that's right." Stamford asked, a little confused.  
  
"Would you be able to identify this?" she asked and she took out a small ivory snuffbox with small, Indian elephant sculptures carved into its sides and lid.  
  
Stamford stood up a little shakily and grasped the small ornate box in his slightly trembling hands.  
  
"This is a very interesting snuffbox," commented he. "It is the box given to people who have been of great service to the richest man in India. Sires, I think the man's name is. I recall that there were only two people who ever had the honour of getting this type of reward, the late Percival O'Connell and Kumar Rao."  
  
The new piece of information apparently shocked Kathryn immensely, as she leaned in closer and demanded sharply, "Are you sure that those were the only two?"  
  
Stamford looked at her incredulously, somewhat surprised at her outburst. "Of course I'm sure," he replied, slightly indignant.  
  
"What happened to O'Connell and Rao?" Kathryn asked earnestly.  
  
"O'Connell died a few years after receiving his snuffbox of natural circumstances, I think. His box was passed down to his son, Benjamin, who still lives in India to this day."  
  
"And Rao?" asked Kathryn.  
  
"I'm not sure about him," replied Stamford thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "I only know that he received the snuff box. I have no idea where he went after that or even if he's still alive."  
  
"Well, thank you very much for your valuable time," said Kathryn, rising to her feet. "You have greatly assisted me on this case. I bid you good day."  
  
Kathryn quietly stepped out of the room to talk with the old servant.  
  
"Things will turn out for the better, eventually, Stamford," I comforted, putting a hand upon the man's sagging shoulders.  
  
"Thank you, Watson," he said shakily with a small smile, "for helping me through this ordeal. I hope that I have helped a little in this investigation."  
  
"I am certain that we will catch the villain who did this to your sister." I assured him.  
  
"It's strange," mused Stamford, his eyes brightening slightly, "how you always seem to become acquainted with detectives."  
  
"I suppose it's just a coincidence," I replied, chuckling. "I'm glad that you're returning to your old self. Just remember that we will get to the bottom of this no matter what, and things will get better soon."  
  
"Thank you, old friend," Stamford said to me, taking my hand into his and shaking it gratefully. "Good luck to both of you on your case."  
  
With that, I took my leave, following Kathryn's steps out of the library and headed to the front door, where Kathryn was waiting for me patiently.  
  
"This case grows more mysterious," she mused with a pensive expression on her face as we walked down the road. "All of the evidence points toward one man as the murderer with the exception of the snuff box."  
  
"What are we to do now?" I asked, bemused.  
  
Kathryn pulled out her pocket watch again, glanced at it, and smiled, saying, "Well, Doctor, it is five o'clock. I do believe it is time to pay a visit to Mr. Holmes's brother, Mycroft." 


	13. Of Past and Present

Disclaimer: I still don't own Holmes  
  
A/N: I am SO Incredibly Sorry for not updating lately ::hides:: Being a sophomore it CAMS is fun but incredibly busy. The teachers just keep pilin' on the work so I only have 1 day a week to work ::sighs:: But don't worry! I assure you that all stories will be complete.eventually. Eek ::dodges flames:: ahem, without further a due, Enjoy!  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
Chapter 13- Of Past and Present  
  
We made our way through the streets of London quickly by hansom and arrived at Pall Mall shortly after half past five. Kathryn had not said a word during this time, but wore a pensive expression on her face, her lustrous emerald eyes shining even brighter than normal.  
  
I, on the other hand, was more confused than ever. It had seemed clear to me that Colonel Moran was the perpetrator of the crime. The telegram to Miss Thompson alone would prove that fact to any jury. How was this new man, Kumar Rao involved? The snuffbox was present at the scene of the crime, which proves that he was there at some time, most probably during the night of the murder. Yet, there seems to be no connection between the two instances or between the two men. I shook myself from the confusing thoughts of this paradox and sighed exasperatedly.  
  
"This case seems so complicated!" I exclaimed, frustrated, as we walked towards the Diogenes Club.  
  
"Indeed, Doctor," replied Kathryn calmly, with her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Have patience, and I assure you that things should be clear enough soon."  
  
When we arrived at the large ebony door that was the entrance to the Diogenes Club, I had barely enough time to rap on the door before a tall, thin man with silver hair opened it.  
  
"We are here to see Mr. Mycroft Holmes," I told the man.  
  
"Mr. Holmes is expecting you," said he in a monotone voice before ushering us inside.  
  
The man showed us through a labyrinth of long, winding corridors, beckoning us not to speak, before coming to the "Strangers Room" and ushering us inside. We followed him to a small corner where the corpulent mass that was Mycroft Holmes was sitting, waiting for us.  
  
"Kathryn, Watson!" he exclaimed, surprising me by standing up out of his chair and taking her hand into his own. "It is so wonderful to see you again! I have heard that you have gotten involved in the case involving my brother."  
  
"Yes, Mycroft," confirmed Kathryn gravely. "The case is very dark against Sherlock, but I've found several singular points that may lead to proving his innocence. I have come to ask for you help."  
  
"Well, Kathryn, I'll do what I can, but you know that I can't guarantee anything," Mycroft stated sternly as he beckoned us into a pair of comfortable, high-backed chairs; the smile fading from his large face.  
  
Kathryn took out a small slip of telegraph paper out from a pocket hidden among the voluminous folds of her long azure dress.  
  
"This was the telegram delivered to Miss Jennifer Thompson on the day of the murder. It seems to have been written in some kind of code. See what you can make of it."  
  
Mycroft took the telegram into his large, flipper like hands, and examined the small paper critically.  
  
"Hmm.this is an interesting message. I believe that this was written in spiral code," he mused with his brows knotted.  
  
He took out a small black fountain pen and leather bound notebook from within the depths of his inside pocket, and began to write. A minute later, he looked up at us with an unreadable expression in his introspective iron- grey eyes so similar to his brother's.  
  
Without a word, Mycroft grimly tore the paper he was writing on from his notebook and handed it to Kathryn, who skimmed it quickly before handing it to me.  
  
"Meet me at eight p.m. to let me in to finish off Julia," I read, my eyes widening incredulously at what I saw.  
  
"It seems that our range of suspects widens," commented Kathryn morosely.  
  
"Indeed," agreed Mycroft. "So tell me Kathryn, what other information have you gathered?"  
  
Kathryn succinctly explained the events of the day, mentioning the curry cooked the night before, the packet of white powder found in Jennifer Thompson's closet, and the snuffbox.  
  
"Peter Stamford told me that the snuffbox was given as a reward by Sires, the richest man in India, to Kumar Rao and the late Percival O'Connell," stated Kathryn as Mycroft was scrutinizing the ornately carved ivory article.  
  
"I see," mused Mycroft, nodding. "Well, there's not much that I can tell you about O'Connell. He was a soldier, and retired out of the service honourably with more medals than he could pin on his shirt. I think I met the fellow once myself, a few years ago. Simple, cheerful chap he was.  
  
"There is an interesting story behind Rao, however. He is Arabic, but he worked for the German government and was one of their best agents. That is, before he was involved with a huge scandal and murdered one of the top men associated with the Kaiser. The whole affair was hastily covered up, and Rao disappeared without a trace before the government could arrest him. For about a decade, nothing was heard of him and many, including the Germans, thought he was dead. Then about a year ago, he popped up again under an alias, and has been hopping from country to country, and living off different names and never staying at one place for more than a month. My sources tell me that he is living in London now, though none of the British agents have actually seen the man under any of his usual disguises."  
  
Mycroft scribbled something onto his notebook and tore out the piece of paper on which he was writing.  
  
"That is Rao's supposed current address," said he quietly. "It has not been confirmed, though, since the man has never been observed at the establishment. See what you can make of it."  
  
"Thank you, Mycroft," replied Kathryn. "It will be of use to us."  
  
"You must understand that I cannot be in any way involved in this. I would be risking the relative peace that Germany and our own great empire has established," whispered Mycroft, so that only Kathryn and I could hear him.  
  
"I understand the delicate position you are in, Mycroft," Kathryn reassured him quietly, her eyes softening. "I assure you that no one will know that you were involved in any of this. I'm just glad that you are doing this, knowing the risks involved, for the sake of your brother."  
  
"I'm glad to see that you still retain your confidence and empathy after all these years," said Mycroft, smiling. "It's a shame that we cannot talk longer, as I would very much like to hear what you have been doing after you left Cambridge. I'm glad to be of service to you, and thank you for helping Sherlock when he is in need."  
  
"It's the least that I can do for an old friend," replied Kathryn with a slight bow as she stood up. "Hopefully, we can meet again soon under better circumstances."  
  
We shook hands and bade each other goodbye before Kathryn and I left and set off for dinner.  
  
Although I was still preoccupied and perplexed about the situation at hand, I still had another, more amusing thought nagging at the back of my mind as we strode down Pall Mall.  
  
"There's something you're not telling me about your past with Holmes," I stated curiously. "From his brother's reaction on seeing you I can tell that you that something much more happened than a simple case."  
  
Kathryn glanced at me quickly before smiling amusedly and said, "I can see why Holmes speaks so highly of you, Doctor. We were friends during our last year of university at Cambridge and worked on two cases together, nothing more."  
  
Despite her words, I was still unconvinced, as I thought I saw a slight tinge of pink on her pale cheeks and a slight sadness in her eyes as she smiled at me. I decided not to press the subject further at the moment; as it was obvious, that Kathryn did not want to discuss her mysterious past any further.  
  
We dined at a small pub on Oxford Road during which I spent much of the time telling Kathryn of my past with Holmes, in hopes of nudging her to return the courtesy.  
  
"I actually met Holmes through Stamford," I told her pointedly. "I had just returned to England after being transferred from Afghanistan."  
  
"Really?" asked Kathryn, her emerald orbs glittering with amusement.  
  
I nodded in reply, saying, "I was in search of some new lodgings and Stamford had told me that Holmes was in search of one too. I had met him that day in the laboratories at Saint Bart's immersed in an experiment. Holmes told me about some rooms he found on Baker Street that were too much for his own pocket, and told me that he was looking for a fellow lodger. We talked about the lodgings, and the next day we settled in quite comfortably. The rest, you can say, is history I suppose."  
  
"Interesting," commented Kathryn with interest. "I'm surprised that you two got along so well together after so little introduction."  
  
"Well it wasn't a completely smooth transition," I admitted. "For the first few days, Holmes seemed to be the most mysterious man I'd ever met. He was gone for most of the day, and had many unusual visitors at all sorts of ungodly hours. Then there was his eccentric violin playing.  
  
"I think the thing that unsettled me the most was the fact that he seemed to know all about me despite the fact that we had barely shared twenty words with each other since we had met."  
  
At this, Kathryn smiled mischievously, before asking sardonically, "Yes, he does have a tendency to do that, now doesn't he?"  
  
"It wasn't until Holmes had invited me to a case when he actually spoke to me more freely," I agreed. "But enough about me, how did you meet Holmes?"  
  
"I have already told you about the circumstances of our acquaintance," replied Kathryn casually. "What else would you like to know?" she asked, in a tone that suggested she already knew the answer.  
  
I paused for a second, thinking about how I should phrase my question in a way that would persuade her to answer without making her feel offended. Clearly, this was sensitive topic that was well guarded.  
  
"Well, while it is true that you have mentioned a case which Holmes and yourself have worked on in the past," I offered politely, "I am none the wiser after you have told me."  
  
Kathryn was not even a little fazed by what I said, so I tried a more direct approach. I sighed, before asking, "Why are you guarding the details of your previous acquaintance with Holmes as if it were some embarrassing secret?"  
  
"It is not my tale to tell," replied she replied simply, surprising me with the lack of rancour in her voice. "At least, not yet" she mused quietly to herself as an afterthought.  
  
Dinner was a quiet affair after our initial conversation, although I thought I saw that Kathryn was in a thoughtful mood showing no signs of resentment towards my brash question.  
  
Afterwards, we walked in silence until we reached Baker Street, where a very distraught, tear-eyed Mrs. Hudson let us in. When she entered the room, Kathryn made a quick examination of the mantelpiece. She picked up something close to the messy sheaf of letters sitting at the corner before turning to me with a determined smile on her face and beckoning me to sit.  
  
"We have one more thing we must do before we are done for tonight, doctor," stated Kathryn calmly. She took out a small, cream-coloured envelope from one of the pockets in her skirt, before saying, "I believe that Holmes has a chemistry set in here somewhere."  
  
She promptly made her way across the room to the chemical corner with the old, acid stained, deal-topped table. She quickly opened one of the nearby cupboards and started to shuffle through its contents. After taking out several bottles filled with various liquids and crystals of an assortment of colours, Kathryn lit a nearby Bunsen burner and started to work in silence.  
  
Kathryn picked up a glass test tube and carefully lifted the beige envelope, tipping some of the white, powdery substance into the tube. For the next half an hour, she stooped over the chemical test tube containing the mysterious white powder. The only sound that could be heard was a quiet chinking of glass, which permeated the room as Kathryn mixed a myriad of chemicals together. Finally, she turned back to me with a test tube containing a deep violet liquid, and announced quietly, "It is opium."  
  
Five minutes later, I found myself sitting in my old, favourite chair, facing Kathryn, who was sitting in Holmes's usual seat.  
  
"I am now still fairly certain the Colonel Moran is behind this whole mess," she said confidently. "All of the evidence points towards that fact except one. We have yet to discover what roles Jennifer Thompson and Kumar Rao have in this, and we still don't know who "Tigerlily" is, although I have a suspicion. I will call here tomorrow morning at nine, and we will pay a visit to Rao to test out a theory of mine. Get some rest, Doctor. It seems that tomorrow is going to be a busy day."  
  
With that, she stood up and showed herself out of the room, leaving me utterly bemused and melancholy. Sighing, I turned to stare into the merrily crackling hearth- with its bright flames dancing jovially- oblivious to the dark cloud that seemed to loom over us.  
  
How could we prove Holmes's innocence with so little evidence? Our time was extremely limited, as the trial date was set in a week's time, and there was already so much evidence against him. What had Kathryn found on the mantelpiece that seemed so important? What was the mysterious white powder found in Thompson's and what had it to do with the curry served on the evening of the murder? What part did Kumar Rao play in this case? These thoughts plagued my mind as I drifted into an uneasy sleep.  
  
A/N2: I will now take the time to thank all of the reviewers for their comments upon this story. I really appreciate a the things you guys have said.  
  
And special thanks to Anneliese for reviewing every chapter ::claps::  
  
Please keep up all the reviews! 


	14. Unexpected Revelations

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and all characters from the canon series belong to Doyle and Doyle alone.  
  
A/N: Hi, you guys. I am SOO sorry for posting so late ::hides from the angry readers:: Well, here's chapter 14, and it's the longest chapter yet, to give you some compensation. Don't worry, this story isn't dead, and I will finish it. The Plot is picking up for the final leg of this story, so stay tuned and enjoy!  
  
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Chapter 14- Unexpected Revelations  
  
I awoke suddenly the next morning a persistent shaking on my side.  
  
"Dr. Watson, Dr. Watson. I'm sorry to disturb you so early this morning, but I'm afraid that you have a visitor," Mrs. Hudson's voice quietly echoed my small cosy bedroom before turning to leave.  
  
"Who is it?" I asked, rubbing my bleary eyes.  
  
"It is Miss Granger. She has already been waiting for about half an hour and is very anxious to see you," she replied before stepping out of the room and closing the aged mahogany door behind her.  
  
I sat up slowly in my bed and looked out of my small window out into the rustle and bustle of the streets below. It was still early, so there were only a few people walking along the paved and cobbled streets below. Everything just seemed so normal; the people went on with their lives, blissfully unaware of the events that have racked my mind for the past two days. Sighing at the irony that Providence always poses towards its lesser beings, I trudged tiredly towards my closet to pick out my clothes for the day.  
  
When I finally emerged from my abode into the comfortable living room filled with the warmth of a blazing fire, it was to find Kathryn's tall and graceful figure standing by the window as she peered pensively down at the busy street below. At the sound of my footsteps on the plush vermilion carpet as I entered the room, she lifted her gaze and fixed her introspective emerald eyes on my own blue ones.  
  
"Good morning, Doctor," she called cheerily as I beckoned her into a chair. "I hope that you slept well."  
  
"I did, considering the circumstances," I replied politely as Mrs. Hudson stepped in with tea for us both.  
  
"That is good to hear, for we have a busy day ahead of us," Kathryn stated as she picked up a cup full of the steaming liquid from the tray on the small table in front of her.  
  
"I went to a tobacconist's shop yesterday, after I left here, in order to find out the type of cigar that the ash I found in the room of the deceased belonged to," Kathryn reported. "According to the store reference books, the ash I found in Julia Stamford's room was from a Havana cigar."  
  
"Havana?" I asked with my ears perked. "Those are really expensive, aren't they?"  
  
"Yes, I believe so," Kathryn replied thoughtfully. "Since Holmes doesn't smoke Havana cigars, this means that whoever visited Miss Stamford on the night of her death must have been a person with a reasonably high economic and perhaps social status."  
  
"How would Kumar Rao be able to gain access to such a high quality brand of cigars?" I asked curiously.  
  
"One step at a time, Doctor," Kathryn cautioned with an amused smile gracing her thin lips. "We are not yet certain that the ash belonged to Rao. It is certainly possible that a third person was present in Miss Stamford's room on that fateful night, or it is also possible, though unlikely, that Holmes has taken up to smoking Havana cigars on occasion." At this she allowed herself a small chuckle and the small smile turned into a sardonic smirk. "Whatever is the case, we mustn't let ourselves jump to conclusions, or it may just come back and haunt us later on."  
  
"So what do we have to go on, then?" I asked carefully. "What are the points that we must follow out today?"  
  
"Well, this is a little complicated in the fact that we must follow two seemingly completely different trains of thought in order to pursue the same solution," answered Kathryn as she turned and fixed her pensive gaze back outside. "First of all, we must confirm this new line of investigation dealing with Rao. It is one of the most singular turns that the progress of this case has made so far. This new point may be completely insignificant, but it may also tie the whole solution together when we have it in the end. We must not take the chance of letting precious information slip past our fingertips unchecked, especially the introduction of a new character in this scheme. We must follow this thread of inquiry, wherever it leads us, to the very end.  
  
"There is also the small, yet not insignificant fact that we found an envelope stamped with the ? seal that contained a substantial quantity of opium among Miss Jennifer Thompson's belongings. There are several inferences which can be drawn from this issue, but I think that we should question the lady herself later on today to confirm or disprove the theories I have."  
  
"So our first step should be to visit Kumar Rao's establishment, then?" I asked for confirmation, which came in the form of a slight nod. "Right then, I'll just go call for a cab."  
  
I left Kathryn where she was at the windowsill, and quietly made my way out of the room and down the flight of stairs, briefly recalling that Holmes once told me that there were 17 steps. I wandered around on the ground floor in search of Mrs. Hudson, and found her in the kitchen, where she was enjoying a cup of tea.  
  
At the sound of my footsteps, she hastily stood up and took a few hesitant steps towards me. "Is there a problem, Dr. Watson?" she asked worriedly at the clouded look in me eyes.  
  
"It's nothing," I assured her half-heartedly. "Could you please call for a brougham to arrive here, please?"  
  
"Certainly, Doctor," she replied graciously, her features softening. "I'll have one at the doorstep within ten minutes."  
  
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." With that I trudged back up the flight of stairs in a melancholy mood.  
  
"Is something the matter, Doctor?" Kathryn asked with concern in her emerald eyes that seemed to peer into my very soul as I stepped back into Holmes's living room. "You seem troubled."  
  
"It's nothing, I'm sure," I replied quickly. "A brougham will be arriving within ten minutes."  
  
"Good," replied Kathryn firmly as she came up to me and guided me into a chair by the fireplace. "Until then, you can be kind enough to tell me what's troubling you, and hopefully I can ease your qualms."  
  
I looked up in surprise into the clear, twin pools of emerald light that were her eyes, and let myself become calmed and mesmerized in their bottomless depths. "It just seems so hopeless for Holmes," I whispered quietly. "If we don't get to the bottom of this, he'll be hanged for certain!"  
  
"Don't worry. As much as that would give Inspectors Lestrade and Gregson a good laugh, Holmes will not go into the dock for this crime," Kathryn assured comfortingly. "Now, is there anything else troubling you?"  
  
I slowly shook my head timidly, although there was indeed something else on my mind. It seemed to me that Kathryn saw past this attempt at deception, but she said nothing more, and the two of us made our way silently out of the room.  
  
***  
  
The cab ride was an uneventful one, though Kathryn tried to keep me occupied from my wistful thoughts by asking me about my profession and hobbies.  
  
"So you're a private practitioner?" asked Kathryn, glancing up at the bowler hat currently sitting upon my head.  
  
"Yes," I replied, recalling how the bulge in my old hat had brought Holmes to a similar conclusion in the past. "I'm a doctor in private practice," I explained in answer to the question she posed me. "I have been for some time. Business is not flourishing but at least there will always be a steady stream of patients coming in on a day-to-day basis. I frequently do house calls for patients suffering from severe symptoms of various diseases, but I mostly work at my office in Kensington."  
  
"So what else do you do, apart from taking care of the sick in this world and chronicling our mutual friend's adventures?" Kathryn queried, leaning back in her seat across from me.  
  
"Well I have my clubs that I attend every so often, where I play the odd game of billiards, but apart from that, I suppose that I lead a quiet life at home reading," I replied, somewhat surprised at my lack of activities.  
  
"May I ask why, since I perceive that you are a sociable man?" Kathryn questioned, with her interest peaked.  
  
I slowly averted my gaze from her scintillating green eyes, and peered thoughtfully at my hands, which were brushing an imaginary speck of dust off my trousers. "I suppose that I've had little opportunity to engage in social activities after the death of my wife, Mary, some years ago," I answered quickly as offhandedly as I could muster, although the mention of Mary's name brought back painful memories.  
  
"Oh, I'm very sorry," replied Kathryn empathetically. "I shouldn't have asked that question."  
  
"Oh, no," I assured, as I managed to put a small smile on my face, "Your question was perfectly reasonable. You couldn't have known."  
  
The rest of the ride was filled with a tense and sombre silence, and it was with some relief that Kathryn and I alighted the brougham about ten minutes later at a cross street at the border of the Whitechapel District.  
  
"Why would Rao want to set up shop here?" I asked curiously as I took in the dismal and depressing surroundings.  
  
"Not everyone in this world is blessed with the riches and splendour of upper class life," Kathryn responded simply. The two of us made our way up Whitechapel Road and stopped in front of a small, inconspicuous building whose walls and windows were soiled with soot and grime. There was a sign hanging above the store, faded with time, which read, "Abdullah's Antiques, Merchants of fine furniture and artefacts since 1850."  
  
With a quick glance at the worn sign, Kathryn placed her gloved hand on the doorknob and turned it. The door opened with squeaky hinges, and this triggered the slight tinkling of a bell, which signified our entrance into the establishment. The interior was completely covered with a fine layer of dust, and looked like some old museum, with its many trinkets scattered all over its many high shelves. As I gazed around the dimly lit room, My eyes took in the sight of intricately carved golden globes, maps from the time of Ptolemy, small bronze statues of some obscure deities from foreign lands, ivory jewellery from India, and ancient tomes and scrolls of literature of ages long past, which contrasted with the relatively new furniture from France, probably dating back to the 18th century.  
  
"Strange place," I mused to myself, curiously examining one of the scrolls. "Whoever owns this establishment certainly did come by a strange array of antiques."  
  
Kathryn seemed not to have heard me, however, as she quietly made her way around the room, carefully examining the various items for herself, before stopping at the main desk on which a quite modern till sat. It was with some surprise, therefore, that I heard her mutter, "Yes indeed, Doctor. This may be useful later on."  
  
She quickly rang the small bell on the counter, and soon a man came bustling out from a back room just as the ding of the bell faded completely from our ears. I was surprised at the level of professionalism which he held as he entered the room. He was a stout young fellow with a clean- shaven jaw and square face framed with a head of fiery auburn hair. He was dressed in a rough shirt rolled up to the elbows and dusty trousers, which showed signs of wear and tear. On top of these articles of clothing was an apron, which looked like it hadn't been washed for decades.  
  
At the sight of two possible customers, the man raised his bushy eyebrows above a pair of iron-grey eyes that held a warm twinkle.  
  
"Good mornin', folks. What can I do for you?" he asked politely.  
  
"My name is Dr. Watson, and I am working on a case with my friend here on behalf of Sherlock Holmes," I introduced myself succinctly.  
  
At the sound of the famous detective's name, the young fellow's eyes widened in surprise. "You're workin' on behalf of Mr. Holmes? Well, I'd certainly say that he's done a lot o' good around 'ere, you know. My name is Harry Livingston, by the way. How can I be of service to you both?"  
  
"We are looking for a man named Kumar Rao, the owner of this establishment. We need to ask him a few questions," Kathryn replied kindly, with a smile on her face.  
  
Livingston furrowed his eyebrows in thought. "I'm sorry, miss, but there's no man who works here under that name. The owner of this shop is my boss, a man named Abdullah Raquesh."  
  
I was about to apologise for the intrusion, when Kathryn held up a hand and interrupted me, asking: "Mr. Livingston, would Mr. Raquesh be an Arabic looking person?"  
  
"Yes, I suppose you could say that," Livingston replied with a slow nod. "You can never tell with those foreigners; Mr. Raquesh definitely was from out of the country."  
  
Kathryn dove one of her hands within a hidden pocket amongst the many folds of her long, black dress. Soon, she pulled it back out with a slip of cardboard between her fingertips. "Do you recognise this man as being your employer?"  
  
"Why, yes!" exclaimed Harry incredulously. "How on earth did get that picture? Mr. Raquesh isn't exactly very photogenic."  
  
The question remained unanswered, however, as Kathryn voiced her own thoughts with an amused smile. "It seems that we have been searching for the wrong man, Doctor. May we speak with your employer, Mr. Livingston?"  
  
"I'm sorry to inform you that he isn't here at the moment, miss," Livingston replied frankly. "I work here by myself managing the store most days, but the fellow will pop in every once in a while to check up on me."  
  
Kathryn paused for a moment in quick thought, before posing another question. "Can you tell us where Mr. Raquesh is residing?"  
  
"No, miss, I'm sorry," responded Livingston apologetically. "I just see him coming into the store from the back room, which has a door facing out into the street. I never go back there myself, but he always arrives here from the back, so I just assume that he enters the store through the door- it's only logical after all- but he could be coming from anywhere beyond that."  
  
"May we see this back entrance?"  
  
"Certainly, please come this way." Livingston beckoned us to follow him behind the counter and through the door through which he had originally emerged. We walked passed what seemed a large, dank storage room, full of odd dust-covered trinkets and forgotten treasures from all corners of the world, and as I passed row after row of these articles, I mused to myself how interesting it would be to spend an afternoon in here, just examining all of this odd bits and bobs. The storage room lead to a smaller, almost empty room furnished only with a wooden desk and a three-legged stool, which looked as if it would collapse under the slightest strain.  
  
Livingston made his way across the room to a small, weatherworn door with a tiny glass window. "This is the door I was talking about," Livingston announced, looking at the door with a clouded expression. Kathryn however was gazing at the dust-covered wooden floor with a pensive expression on her face. She lightly tapped her foot against the ground, and her pensive expression grew darker.  
  
"Miss Granger?" I asked, bringing her from her reverie. She promptly stepped up to the doorway and made a quick examination.  
  
"When was the last time that Mr. Raquesh came to this store?" she asked suddenly, startling both Livingston and myself with the nature of the question.  
  
"Well, now that you mention it, Mr. Raquesh did pop in for about an hour only yesterday," Livingston answered once he had regained his composure.  
  
"It is as I expected then," Kathryn mused to herself. "This door hasn't been used for over a year, by its state."  
  
"Then how does Raquesh get in?" I asked curiously.  
  
For an answer, Kathryn suddenly bent down and began searching the dusty floor for something. After about a minute, her nails seemed to have dug into one of the slots between the floorboards. With a quick tug, the floorboard slipped out of sight, revealing a small metallic latch. Grasping the latch tightly with her hands, Kathryn pulled, lifting up a section of the wooden panelling large enough for a man to fit through, which revealed a darkened tunnel underneath.  
  
"It seems very likely that Mr. Raquesh uses this hidden passage to arrive at the store," Kathryn said quietly. "It does, after all, belong to him."  
  
"Let's go then," I announced as I looked uncertainly into the pitch-black passage. Livingston swiftly left the room and returned with a small torch. Kathryn deftly took the lantern and stepped down into the passage, followed closely by the two of us.  
  
I couldn't discern much of the surroundings from the dim light of the single lantern, but by the sound of water dripping from the low ceiling, and the splashing of water as we made our way along the well-worn air, I could tell that the passage was extremely wet. We walked for what seemed hours as the path continued onwards, winding left and right. Just as I thought that the tunnel would never end, our little procession came to a halt at the foot of a flight of wooden stairs. With a quick glance behind her shoulder at Livingston and me, Kathryn made her way slowly up the steps. Livingston and I quickly followed her, and reached the top just as Kathryn opened the door at the end of the landing. The door creaked slowly open, and the sight that was revealed to us made Kathryn utter an audible gasp.  
  
"Good lord," I gasped.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Er.Sorry about this cliffhanger, but I'll update as soon as I can. Please R/R! 


	15. Questions

Disclaimer: ::looks at name tag:: Nope, still don't own Sherlock Holmes. ::sigh:: if only I could change my name. ::wink::  
  
A/N: Really sorry about the delay. I've been really busy with school lately, but I'll update as soon as I can. Well at least I got over the cliffie, ^_~.  
  
Thanks to those of you who reviewed:  
  
Anneliese: I'm not dead! Yay!! :ahem: Well, thanks for all your support, your comments make me feel all warm inside ^_^  
  
Moonrose: ::smirks:: sorry about the cliffie, but being evil is fun. Besides, it was my first one, and it wouldn't have been as fun without it. Thanks for your encouragement though, I'll try to finish this soon. Oh, and if you want to know about Kathryn and Holmes's past, please read "University Life," as that story describes their college years.  
  
Well, I've bored you enough with my blabbing, now on with the story!  
  
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Chapter 15- Questions  
  
"What's the matter?" Livingston's curious voice called from behind us, bringing me back to reality. I turned around to face the young man, who was desperately craning his neck this way and that in an attempt to take a glance at what had stopped the two of us dead in our tracks. Wearing a grave expression on my face, I led Livingston down the stone steps, and as the sound of our footsteps began to reverberate through the darkened tunnel, I beckoned him to stop. I hurriedly drew out my pocket notebook from within the depths of my coat and scribbled a few quick lines before pushing the piece of paper into Livingston's hands.  
  
"Take this note to Scotland Yard as fast as you can, and hurry!" I called out to him. "It seems that we have a murder on our hands." Livingston's eyes widened in astonishment, but he turned on his heel without another word and sped down the dark and dank corridor.  
  
Turning my attention back to the now vacated flight of stairs, I made my way back up the steps and into the room where the smell of death was still tangible in the air. The room itself comfortably furnished, with lavish though somewhat grotesque paintings hanging on its four walls, telling of a man with rich, though eccentric tastes. There was a large, ornately decorated four-poster bed in the centre of the room, with elaborate azure silk curtains tied elegantly with velvet fastenings. On the left of this was a chest of drawers of carefully hewn lacquered wood as tall as I was, beside which stood a walk-in wardrobe made of the same fine material. On the right was a desk full of books and papers, which were strewn all over its dusted surface in untidy stacks.  
  
All of this I noticed later on, as my eyes were currently drawn to the man who was currently sprawled on the hardwood floor in front of the extravagant bed, while his blood stained the mahogany a deep crimson. He was propped up haphazardly with his back to the bedstead, with his limbs lying limp beside him, dangling as if they were about to sever from his torso. His wide face, marred by a single bullet wound in the centre of the forehead, was contorted into a gruesome, mirthless smile, as his twin dark beady eyes glaring daggers at me, causing me to shudder involuntarily.  
  
"It seems that someone has paid an unexpected visit to Mr. Raquesh in the night," muttered Kathryn quietly as she peered at the grotesque scene with furrowed brows.  
  
"Do you think Moran did this?" I asked, aghast.  
  
"It is possible," conceded Kathryn thoughtfully. "But then again, so are many other alternatives."  
  
She stepped around the small room making a minute examination of the surroundings and the dead man. The ornate furniture, the dust covered floor, the wallpapered walls, the bloodstained carpet, and the lifeless body were all under Kathryn's careful scrutiny.  
  
"This is very interesting," Kathryn mused thoughtfully as she removed a thick sheaf of papers that had been hastily stuffed in Raquesh's coat pocket, causing the seams to rip in the tension. "I believe that the missing sonar detection plans that Holmes was searching for have been found." She handed me the pile of papers, which turned out to be page after page of schematics of some complex machinery, the mechanisms of which were beyond my comprehension.  
  
"So Rao, who goes by the alias Raquesh, is behind all of this?" I asked bemusedly as I handed the blueprints back.  
  
"Perhaps, but I think that it is more complicated that," Kathryn replied, tucking the papers that caused this string of murders to happen safely into a hidden pocket. Without a word, she lifted up Raquesh's right arm, and slowly rolled up his coat and shirtsleeve to the elbow, revealing livid and bloodstained skin. As I gazed closer at the appendage, I could see a curiously shaped cut upon the man's wrist.  
  
"It's the Omega Symbol!" I breathed with incredulity. "What does this all mean?"  
  
"It means that our threads are finally coming together," Kathryn replied cryptically. She made her way back to the chest of drawers and surreptitiously placed something in her pocket without further explanation just as Livingston returned with Inspector Stanley Hopkins of Scotland Yard. When Livingston saw his employer's body on the floor, he turned a ghastly pallid shade, and promptly made his excuses before quietly slipping out of the room as fast as his legs could take him, leaving Kathryn and me with the young inspector.  
  
"Dr. Watson, what brings you here?" Hopkins asked, slightly surprised after he took in the surroundings.  
  
"Dr. Watson and I were just coming round to see the deceased gentleman, and when we entered his bedroom, we found him like this," Kathryn replied before I could open my mouth.  
  
"Really?" Hopkins asked, with a hint of suspicion in his voice. "Is he a friend of yours or something?"  
  
"We thought that he may bring some insight into the murder of Miss Julia Stamford," I answered succinctly.  
  
At the sound of the name Julia Stamford, Hopkins nodded and hunched his shoulders slightly, as if bending under the weight of a large burden. "I see. Well, I've heard all the other inspectors at the Yard talk about that case ever since yesterday. It's been the only topic of conversation for almost two days. Most people think that Mr. Holmes did it; after all, he did have a history with the woman, he doesn't have a good alibi, and he is physically capable of committing such a deed. Even Holmes himself confesses that the murder weapon was his jack-knife."  
  
Kathryn and I shared a quick glance, before she asked the young inspector quietly, "Do you agree with your colleagues?"  
  
Hopkins glimpsed at us quickly as if to survey our expressions before he began to pace the length of the small room, shaking his head all the while. "I don't know what to think! All the facts point one way, yet my instinct points in another. I've known Mr. Holmes for many years now through the countless times he's helped me on my cases, and I just can't see him killing anyone in cold blood. I mean, he wouldn't have a reasonable motive: revenge wouldn't be a good one in this case, as Julia Stamford had been in London for several weeks. Then there's the fact that the murder weapon was found at all. If Mr. Holmes was indeed the culprit, I believe that he would have had enough foresight to remove the knife from the crime scene, where he knew that the police would search. Inspector Lestrade's been trying to convince me that there isn't any doubt to Mr. Holmes's guilt, but I lack his confidence." At this, he paused a moment, and eyed us searchingly. "You two have been investigating Miss Stamford's murder. What do you two make of this whole mess?"  
  
"We share your concerns," Kathryn replied. "From what we can tell, this case isn't as simple as your fellow colleagues would like to believe. We came to the deceased man, Mr. Abdullah Raquesh also known as Kumar Rao, in an attempt to shed some light into this dark matter. However, as I have already told you, we discovered his body upon entering the premises, and a quick search of the room yielded little."  
  
"What did you find?" Hopkins asked curiously, his eyebrows disappearing above a fringe of dark brown hair.  
  
"Oh, just a scar and a pair of glasses," Kathryn answered offhandedly, making her way to the tunnel entrance. "If you'll excuse us, Inspector, we mustn't interfere with your murder investigation any further. Good day." With that, she stepped past Livingston and out of the room with a swift gait, leaving behind an incredulous Hopkins, whose gaping resembled that of a goldfish.  
  
"You've got with you quite a lady there, Doctor," he muttered when he had regained his composure, and I too hurried from the crime scene in order to catch up with my companion.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
A/N: Not much happens, I know, but at least you know what's inside the room. It seems that Hopkins is the most liberal of the Scotland Yard people; he *might* come in useful later on. Well, please review and tell me what you think. 


	16. A Light In Darkness

Disclaimer: Still Don't Own Holmes. . .  
  
A/N: Thanks to all those who reviewed both the previous chapter. ::Sighs:: I'm pretty sure that you guys have heard enough of my apologies and such about not posting enough, but I'm afraid I had to delay the posting of this and subsequent chapters. The most important reason was that I decided to finish writing this story before posting any more (wouldn't want you guys to be stuck at a cliffie for three months ^_^ ). This allows me to post much faster from now on, and I only hope that you will forgive my tardiness one last time.  
  
And now, without further ado, Here's the next chapter:  
  
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Chapter 16- A Light in Darkness  
  
"Miss Granger!" I called out to my companion as I struggled to catch up with her rapidly moving form. Kathryn did not turn back to acknowledge me, but slowed her steps until I fell into step with her.  
  
"What do you make of this, then?" she asked curiously turning to me with thoughtful eyes.  
  
"Well, it appears to me that we've hit a dead end," I replied resignedly, staring at the cobbled ground under my striding feet. "The only man who could have offered us some information is now slumped dead on his bedroom floor. I don't see how anything we saw in there could tie in with Moran, even if the man did kill Rao."  
  
"Keep your head up, doctor." Kathryn mollified with a gentle smile. "We have not run out of road, yet. There are still a few courses of action we could take."  
  
"What do you intend to do?" I asked questioningly, surprised at the slightly satisfied glint in my companion's emerald eyes.  
  
"Our first course of action is to return to Mycroft Holmes and return these schematics," answered Kathryn as she motioned towards the thick sheaf of papers in her hands. "It would not be wise for us to be found walking around in broad daylight carrying these documents, especially since our friend is already in jail for murder; we could be arrested for being accomplices, and Inspector Lestrade would have yet another piece of evidence against us to add to his collection."  
  
Exiting the secret passage was more difficult than entering it, as there was no ladder leading up to the entrance that was slightly beyond our reach above our heads. Fortunately, some constables were within calling range, and with their help, and the added assistance of a small rope ladder, we were soon able to see the bustling street through the windows of the old antique shop once again. We slipped away with as quietly as possible, before hailing a hansom to Whitehall.  
  
"Mycroft should still be in his office at this hour," remarked Kathryn more to herself than to me as she took out an elegantly carved golden watch from one of the numerous pockets in her dress. "We'll have just enough time to drop off the papers and have a quick lunch before we head back to Oxford Street."  
  
"Oxford Street? Why are we going back there?" I asked quizzically.  
  
"I need to return something that was misplaced." Kathryn responded simply, and remained tight lipped about her plans for the rest of the journey.  
  
We were received at the entrance hall of the government offices with raised eyebrows, but with the help of my card, I was able to convince the severe clerk to reservedly show us to the elder Holmes's office.  
  
Mycroft Holmes was stooping over his large, oak desk with an intense expression set into his austere features that could be only compared to a hawk peering with its sharp eyes down at some unfortunate creature that was about to become its lunch. The desk itself, though of substantial size, was barely under the snowstorm of papers that littered the entire surface. The carpeted floor around us was in an equal state of disarray with stacks of documents and thick, leather-bound tomes strewn everywhere, creating a general sense of discord through the entire room.  
  
From beside me, I could hear Kathryn mutter, "Now I see where Holmes gets his cleaning habits from," with a smile.  
  
At the sound of our footsteps, Mycroft stopped shuffling the papers on his desk, and shifted his gaze upon us with a smile. "Ah, Kathryn, Dr. Watson, It's a pleasure seeing you two again so soon. Please, excuse the state of my office," Mycroft announced jovially, motioning us into chairs. "What can I do for you?"  
  
"We've recovered something that you have lost," Kathryn replied, handing over the schematics that we had discovered earlier in Rao's bedroom.  
  
Mycroft's steel grey eyes widened significantly when he beheld the papers, and he quickly yet carefully scrutinized each one. "How did you get this?" He asked incredulously. Kathryn and I made a quick sketch of our actions, recounting how we had found the Arabic spy dead with the sheaf of plans stuffed haphazardly in his pocket.  
  
Mycroft slowly bobbed his up and down in understanding when we had completed our account, and he sat silently with his eyes closed in thought. Just when I had thought that the man had fallen asleep, he uttered solemnly, "What will you do now, Kathryn?"  
  
"I have a few questions I need to ask Miss Jennifer Thompson," Kathryn explained. "Hopefully, she can shed some more light into this whole matter, although the case is almost complete."  
  
At this, Mycroft and I turned to look at our companion with surprise. "You say that you know what happened on the night of Julia Stamford's death?" Holmes asked.  
  
"I know most of the important facts surrounding that evening, yes," Kathryn answered thoughtfully. "All we need now is to find Colonel Moran himself."  
  
We had lunched quickly with Mycroft at a small café across from the elder Holmes's lodgings, before parting ways with him and setting off once again for Oxford Street in a brougham.  
  
"How is Jennifer Thompson involved in all of this mess?" I asked curiously as our cab rattled down the cobbled streets.  
  
"Moran needed someone to assist him with his plan," Kathryn explained. "After all, one cannot simply waltz into a respectable establishment, commit a murder, and waltz out without any help."  
  
"But how can you be so sure that it's Thompson and not anyone else?" I prompted.  
  
Kathryn smiled cryptically. "You shall see soon enough."  
  
"Miss Granger," called Inspector Gregson in surprise as we stepped once again into the threshold of the grey-coloured lodgings of 243 Oxford Street. "What a pleasant surprise! I didn't expect to see you here again."  
  
"Good afternoon, Inspector," Kathryn replied in greeting. "We won't take up too much of your valuable time. Could you let me see Miss Thompson for a moment? I simply want to return something that was lost."  
  
The good-natured Inspector looked at us curiously, but showed us into the comfortably furnished front parlour on the ground floor. Soon afterwards, the slightly stumbling form of Jennifer Thompson made her way slowly into the room, with her arms slightly outstretched in front of her as if she were feeling her way around.  
  
The servant stood in front of us quietly with her arms pressed upon her immaculately cleaned apron, as she fixed her piercing gaze that had not lost its sharpness despite her squinting.  
  
"How can I be of service to you, Miss?" she asked with strained politeness.  
  
"I believe that I have something that belongs to you, Miss Thompson, but before I show it to you, I need to ask you something. How long have you been employed here?"  
  
"Over two years, Miss," was the curt reply.  
  
"Do you know anyone named Markus Fleming?" Kathryn prompted.  
  
"No," Thompson answered confidently with a shake of her head. "I've never heard of the name. Why, does he have something to do with all this mess?"  
  
"Perhaps," Kathryn assented. She delved one of her gently tapering hands into a pocket hidden among the many folds of her long, elegant skirt, extricating a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. "I believe that these belong to you," Kathryn remarked as she handed the spectacles to the servant before us.  
  
Jennifer gasped in surprise at the sight of her spectacles and frantically snatched them from Kathryn's loose grip. "Where did you get this?  
  
"Oh, it was only in the possession of one Abdullah Raquesh, also known as Kumar Rao," Kathryn replied simply, her piercing green eyes boring into those of the servant before her. Thompson flinched visibly as the name was uttered and began shaking uncontrollably. Quickly, I stood to support the pale girl before she would collapse onto the floor, beckoning her to a chair and pouring her a glass of brandy.  
  
"Now, let's begin again, shall we?" Kathryn started calmly again as the colour returned to Thompson's pallid cheeks. "How long have you known Markus Fleming?"  
  
Thompson looked up quickly at the question, before taking a deep breath and tightening her lips. "I t-told you that I d-don't know any such person."  
  
"Miss Thompson, when we first met, you had agreed to be frank with me," Kathryn said in an admonishing tone. "Yet you have been trying to deceive us both again and again. I know that you received a letter from Mr. Fleming on the night of Miss Stamford's murder, telling you that he would 'finish her off.' I know that you were with Mr. Rao when he died. The game is up, Tigerlily; Markus Fleming will not help you now. It will only be easier for you if you tell the truth."  
  
Thompson's eyes had widened considerably throughout Kathryn's statement; she now gasped slightly before lowering her head in defeat. "I met Mark when he dropped by this place about four months ago. He said that he was passing by and stayed about a fortnight here."  
  
"I see," Kathryn commented pensively. "I suppose that you fell in love with him during that time?"  
  
"It wasn't as though I could help it!" Thompson cried indignantly. "I wasn't the only one charmed by his face and his purse. He told me that he was a widower and that he had fallen in love with me."  
  
Kathryn nodded calmly. "What did he tell you about Julia Stamford?"  
  
"After he left, Mark sent me letters every week, telling me that he would come back for me. He told me that he just needed me to stay long enough to watch over his acquaintance, Miss Stamford, for him," Thompson explained slowly. "When I asked him who she was, he told me that she was an old jealous mistress of his; he explained that he needed to keep an eye on her, because he feared that she would act violently if she ever met him again.  
  
"At first, I thought this was a little strange, because when I met Miss Stamford, she had been quite pleasant to everyone, even if she was a little distant," Thompson continued. "That changed gradually as the weeks passed; she became angrier and more secretive around me as time went on-I think she found out that I was now Mark's new mistress. I wrote continually to him, in the new spiral code that he had taught me, telling him about all that I saw.  
  
"About a week ago, I saw Mr. Holmes with Miss Stamford. They had talked about the papers that she had carried with her at all times. I told Mark about this, and he immediately wrote back telling me to meet him. He sent me a packet of powder, telling me to make curry that evening and slip some of the powder into the food. I didn't know what the powder was-he just told me not to eat the curry- and had no idea what he was going to do until he came the night of Miss Stamford's death."  
  
"I understand, Miss Thompson. So, after you let him in, he sent you to his lodgings till morning, am I right?" Kathryn asked curiously.  
  
"Yes," Thompson affirmed. "Markus returned shortly after one in the morning, and told me about everything. He told me to help him escape, because I would be arrested as well if he were caught. After I promised, he returned me back here so I would not be missed in the morning."  
  
Kathryn sighed deeply, shaking her head in thought, before continuing. "I'm afraid that you may not have been charged had you not aided Mr. Fleming so much in his crime. What happened with Mr. Rao? Why were you there?"  
  
"Markus called me back to his lodgings soon after you had come to question me the first time. He told me that he needed me to retrieve some papers from Mr. Rao that had belonged to him. Rao was already dead when I arrived, and I was sure that Markus had something to do with it. When I saw the papers that Markus had told me to get, I recognized them because I saw Miss Stamford with them when she was alive. I thought that if Markus or I were caught with those papers, then we would be suspected for her murder, but if Rao still had the papers when the police found him, then they would suspect him and not us. So I took the papers from where they were hidden in the cabinet and stuffed them in his pocket before leaving as quickly as I could. I suppose I must have left too quickly, since I left my glasses in the room."  
  
Kathryn sat silently for a few moments in deep thought, before standing quietly. "Excuse me for a moment," she said quietly, before stepping swiftly out of the room. Miss Thompson and I were left in an awkward silence, in which her piercing stare would not waver from the wooden floor. I was glad, therefore, when Kathryn returned soon after, with Inspector Gregson in tow, looking as if he had just received the shock of his life.  
  
"You have gotten yourself into quite a mess, Miss. Thompson," Kathryn announced gravely as she stood before the servant. "However, I may be able to help you if you tell me where Mr. Fleming currently resides."  
  
"I won't be able to help you there," Thompson replied with a defiant tone still present as she spoke. "I've only been there once, and I don't know the exact location."  
  
Kathryn, however was unfazed by this answer, and fixed Thompson's stare with a piercing gaze of her own. "Mr. Fleming will not come to your aid after you disobeyed his direct order; I assure you that your only option is to assist us. Do you know anything that could help us find where it is- the name of a nearby street, perhaps, or the name of the house itself?"  
  
Thompson broke eye contact reluctantly. "Markus resides at the Camden House."  
  
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A/N2: Hope you enjoyed this chapter; the next one will be out in a week.  
  
Here's a final FYI before I stop rambling:  
  
I had a review concerning the potency of acetic acid, specifically whether it's strong enough to burn your skin.  
  
Vinegar is acetic acid in a VERY diluted form (only about 4%), and vinegar has its tangy flavour because it has a slight corrosive action on your taste buds. Just imagine what pure 100% acetic acid can do if 4% will burn your tongue! 


	17. The Empty House

Disclaimer: Still don't own Holmes, ::sigh::  
  
A/N: Aw, bummer, no reviews at all this chapter, :-( Well, I promised to post chapter 17, so I can't exactly disappoint-hopefully there's at least someone out there who likes this story still. . . Anyways, hope you like this one-chapter 18 will be up in a week.  
  
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Chapter 17- The Empty House  
  
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"Are you sure?" I blurted out in surprise before I could stop myself, earning a stunned look from the inspector and a calculating glance from Kathryn.  
  
"Yes, of course I'm sure!" Thompson retorted indignantly. "Markus told me the name specifically when he took me there. Seemed to think it was funny, though I don't know for the life of me why."  
  
"Thank you very much," Kathryn said with a small smile. "You have been very helpful to us. I will leave you, now, in the capable hands of Inspector Gregson, and hopefully return as soon as possible. Good day, Miss Thompson."  
  
With that, Kathryn swept quickly out of the room, leaving the inspector, who had just recovered from the shock, to stand over the impassive form of the maid. "Good luck, Dr. Watson," he called to me as I made to follow my companion, before shooting a glare at Thompson. "Let's start back at the beginning, shall we?" I heard him say before stepping out of earshot.  
  
Kathryn was waiting patiently for me on the front steps and called as she saw me emerge from within. "I trust that you know where Camden House is, given your expression when you heard Miss Thompson utter it."  
  
"Yes, it was the old abandoned house that Holmes and I used when we caught Moran trying to murder Holmes," I breathed frantically, explaining to Kathryn the events that occurred soon after Holmes had returned from his hiatus. "I can't believe that Moran, if that's who Markus Fleming really is, would stay right across the street from us-right under our noses!"  
  
"That would explain the glint of light I saw from the house this morning," commented Kathryn calmly. "It was certainly a logical place to lodge- the one place where he would be able to watch all of us without fearing the possibility of being found."  
  
"Wait a moment," I called out as she started walking again. "Are you going to Camden House now?"  
  
"I don't see why not," Kathryn responded simply. "Moran will probably have already left his hiding spot, and we must try to find out where he is going before he gets too far."  
  
We hailed a hansom and soon found ourselves strolling up Baker Street once again. "The door to the Camden House is not located on this main street; it's in one of the back alleyways," I explained as we turned the corner at the end of the street.  
  
Slowly, I led the way through the labyrinth of unnamed dank alleys that ran just behind Baker Street, raking my mind in an attempt to remember which way to go. It was much more difficult than I had imagined, as everything appeared different now that we were walking in daylight. Just as I was beginning to think that we were hopelessly lost, I caught sight of a worn sign with the words "Camden House" scrawled into the roughly hewn wooden plaque hanging above a dilapidated and grungy building.  
  
There was a small note waiting for us attached onto the rickety wooden gate in front of the ramshackle building, and Kathryn quickly snatched it from the gate and glanced through it, before handing the scrap of paper to me.  
  
"My dear Miss Kathryn Granger," it read:  
  
"I have been very impressed with your performance so far in this case;  
Professor Moriarty would have found it an 'intellectual treat'  
observing someone of your intelligence and resourcefulness tackling  
with such determination each obstacle in your pursuit of the truth.  
  
"Unfortunately, you will find that, despite your search, the bird you  
have been seeking has flown from this nest. You are free to look  
around inside if you wish, but I assure you that you will not find  
anything of importance. Nevertheless, I know that you have already  
pieced enough evidence together to remove your friend, Mr. Holmes,  
from the dock and put me in his place. Therefore I ask you to meet me  
at nine o'clock tonight. I will be waiting at the small wharf located  
on the end of Broad Street in order to sort out any loose threads in  
this case. Please do not bring anyone with you, as that course of  
action would be unnecessary and unwise.  
  
"Sincerely yours,  
  
"Sebastian Moran"  
  
"You see that this is a trap, don't you?" I asked sternly, recalling similar letters written to Holmes in the past.  
  
"Of course it is," answered Kathryn seriously, "but it is our best, and perhaps only chance of catching the man. He will probably leave for the continent as soon as he can, and it will be almost impossible to find him there."  
  
"So you're just going to follow his directions and go?" I continued incredulously.  
  
"I was never as reckless as Holmes was, and I doubt that even he would accept Moran's terms so blindly," she replied simply with a smile. "Come, Doctor. It is time for us to reveal what we know to Scotland Yard."  
  
***************************************  
  
"You're sure of all this?" a harried Inspector Hopkins asked for the third time in a row as he paced frantically about in his office an hour later with a drawn, worried expression clear on his still youthful face.  
  
"Yes," Kathryn repeated calmly. She had just finished describing to the inspector our findings on Rao, Thompson, and Moran. "Thompson has confessed that Moran, using one of his aliases, took part in Miss Julia Stamford's murder."  
  
"I still don't understand Kumar Rao's role in all of this," said Hopkins, shaking his head.  
  
"Mr. Rao was probably the one who committed the actual deed under Moran's orders," Kathryn explained steadily. "He took something of value from the scene of the crime without Moran's consent or knowledge, so when the old Colonel found out, he killed the man."  
  
"So where is this 'thing of value' now?" the inspector asked hastily.  
  
"There's no need to worry about that," Kathryn mollified. "It is in the good hands of its rightful owner."  
  
"Well it seems that we have to catch Moran when you meet him tonight," Hopkins commented with a sigh as he glanced over the note that was found at Camden House. Seeing Kathryn's brief, curt nod, he continued, making his way to the door. "Right, I get us a warrant, then."  
  
The inspector slipped out of his office, leaving Kathryn and I to our own thoughts. "It should be interesting to see the expression on Inspector Lestrade's face when he realises that Holmes was innocent all this time," I mused, feeling an amused smile on my face at the thought.  
  
"It should cheer Holmes up and give him a laugh, if nothing else," agreed Kathryn as she stood up and gazed out of the office window. "I'm not sure if we will be able to witness it, I'm afraid," she continued, pulling out her golden pocket watch and examining it.  
  
"At least all of this will soon be over successfully with a little luck, and we'll be able to put this mess behind us," I commented with a sigh.  
  
"Was it really that bad, Doctor?" Kathryn asked with a smile.  
  
"It ran my nerves up the wall just thinking about Holmes being in the dock all the time," I responded honestly. "I barely had any sleep since this started."  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry, Doctor," she replied sympathetically, before returning her gaze to the window.  
  
"Anything interesting out there?" I asked curiously after several minutes of silence.  
  
"Not really, Doctor," my companion commented half-heartedly, still staring outside. "It's just a soon-to-be bride buying some roses." I smiled at this, marvelling at Kathryn's keen powers of observation that were so similar to my old friend's.  
  
Hopkins returned soon after with a grave expression on his face. "Well, I've got the warrant, but I still don't like this plan- it's too dangerous."  
  
"If you have any better ideas, I would be glad to hear them," Kathryn replied coolly. When met with no response, she continued. "I am aware of the dangers as much as you are, but if we don't catch him tonight, then he may slip through our hands indefinitely."  
  
"I understand the need, Miss Granger- I want to see Mr. Holmes out of jail too. But it's just so unconventional; I'm not even sure that I have authorisation to do this.couldn't we at least bring more constables with us?"  
  
"The more people there are, the harder it is to hide them," Kathryn countered in a tone that brooked no argument. "It would be more dangerous with more people since Moran might become suspicious of our plans. Furthermore, I have absolute faith in the capabilities of you, Inspector, and Dr. Watson. The current plan is as safe as it can be."  
  
Dinner was a sombre affair that evening. Stanley Hopkins, who was eventually persuaded to join our undertaking later on, dined with us at Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson, who had still not quite recovered from the shock of Holmes's arrest, set out the roast mutton and oysters in an unusually sombre manner, before rushing out without a word.  
  
"Excuse me for a moment," Kathryn said quietly as she stood up from her untouched plate and followed the landlady out of the door.  
  
Hopkins and I shared a quick glance before turning back to our meals. A tense silence ensued, broken by nothing except from the quiet clatter of the cutlery as we ate and the faint sobbing that drifted up through the wooden floorboards from below.  
  
"You two have certainly been busy over the last few days," Hopkins commented in an attempt to lighten the mood. "How is Miss Granger involved in all of this?"  
  
"She's Holmes's old school chum, apparently," I replied dryly, "but I haven't been able to learn any more than that from the two of them."  
  
"That explains why she knows so much," Hopkins mused with a chuckle. "Her 'deductive methods' are almost identical to Mr. Holmes's. I wonder which school taught them to think like that."  
  
The sobs from below had quietened by now, and soon we heard the click of the doorknob turning, signalling our female companion's return. She returned to her seat silently and peered pensively out the window, ignoring her food completely.  
  
"You should eat something, Miss Granger," I commented, breaking her reverie. "It is necessary, despite whatever Holmes may say."  
  
Kathryn smiled warmly at this, before picking up her fork. "Yes, that is one of Holmes's more annoying habits. Mrs. Hudson told me that it would drive her up the wall just trying to predict when he would like to eat."  
  
"You spoke with her?" I asked, with surprise evident in my voice. It wasn't a normal occurrence to converse idly with servants or even the landlady- I had barely even one complete conversation with Mrs. Hudson in all my years at Baker Street, so I was quite surprised Kathryn, who was still a mere guest in these lodgings, to strike up a conversation with the old landlady.  
  
"Yes," Kathryn replied, gauging my reaction carefully. "She was worried about Mr. Holmes's absence." Seeing the surprise in both the inspector's and my eyes, Kathryn sighed. "My father always taught me that it isn't wrong to converse with the servants, and I happen to agree with him," she said in a tone that ended any arguments in the matter.  
  
The chiming of the old grandfather clock that stood in my bedroom heralded a break in the silence that had ensued. Kathryn pulled out her pocket watch and quickly glanced at it. "It is seven o'clock, gentleman. If none of you have any objections, I suggest that we leave for Broad Street now."  
  
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A/N: Hoped you enjoyed it. Please review, even if it is a flame ^_~ 


	18. Another Empty House

Chapter 18- Another Empty House  
  
Our brougham rolled to a halt at the end of Broad Street shortly after eight, just as the sun had sank below the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. A light yet dreary fog began to settle around us, enveloping the scene in an impenetrable veil of grey mist.  
  
Kathryn briskly hopped out, seemingly unperturbed by the gloomy weather, and stood surveying the surroundings introspectively. Inspector Hopkins and I cautiously followed her out, hugging our coats tightly against the chill.  
  
I glanced around towards the wharf and the nearby buildings with recognition dawning in my mind. "First Camden House, and now this," I mused with a wry laugh. Seeing their confused faces, I continued, "Holmes and I came here after using a dog to track down a trail of creosote in the case of Jonathan Small."  
  
Indeed, the old wooden wharf had changed little since Holmes and I first arrived here during the adventure I later named "The Sign of Four." There were numerous punts and skiffs bobbing about in the water. Glancing beside the worn landing stage, I could still see a small empty, and obviously abandoned, brick house with the words, "Mordecai Smith- Boats to hire by the hour or day," painted with peeling letters on a faded wooden placard slung across a boarded up window.  
  
"This has just been a day of reminisces for you, hasn't it?" Kathryn commented with a smile, lightening all our moods considerably. I turned to see Kathryn step slowly to the end of the jetty, carefully pacing out the exact length of the small wooden dock and scrutinizing every detail. As she reached the very edge, she leaned over the railings on each side of the pier and peered searchingly into the murky depths of the icy water below.  
  
Returning my gaze to Hopkins, the two of us sought for an appropriate hiding spot. Unfortunately there were few places of possible concealment on the jetty before us; apart from a few barrels and crates covered with fishing nets at one end of the landing stage, the wharf was completely bare.  
  
"Don't you think that Moran will suspect that someone may be hiding behind those?" asked Hopkins doubtfully as he raised his eyebrow.  
  
"Yes," I conceded with a sigh. "We must find somewhere else to hide, at least temporarily; Moran will be sure to check that spot when he comes."  
  
"I presume that you have found an adequate hiding spot?" Kathryn asked quietly once she had finished her examination of the quay. She glanced quickly at our sheepish expressions, with her emerald eyes twinkling in amusement. "I'm sure that you two will come up with something. In the mean time, I must leave for the moment, gentlemen- Moran will be suspicious if he finds me waiting for him. I will return in an hour." With a curt nod, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the thickening fog. Silence enveloped us like a dense blanket once again, broken by the clatter of hooves that signalled Kathryn's departure.  
  
"Now what do we do?" Hopkins asked, with desperation peeking through his normally calm voice.  
  
The empty brick house on the landing-edge caught my eye as I had started to shake my head. Curious, I stepped slowly up to the shabby weather-beaten door. "We could try in here if there's no one else inside," I suggested.  
  
"But we can't do that," Hopkins immediately objected. "That's breaking and entering without a warrant!"  
  
"Do you have a better suggestion, then?" I asked wearily. "We have to find somewhere to hide quickly- Moran will be here at any moment, now."  
  
The inspector eventually acquiesced grudgingly, and when I found the door was unlocked, the two of us slipped surreptitiously inside. Darkness filled our vision as the pungent odour of mildew and rotten fish filled our nostrils, making both of us wrinkle our noses.  
  
"It smells like something's died in here," he scoffed in disgust as he bumped unceremoniously into a small wooden bed in the corner of the room.  
  
It seemed to take forever before our eyes adjusted to the pitch-black interior of the single-roomed dwelling. We felt our way cautiously to the single boarded window that was covered with layers of soot and grime. The slats of wood covering much of the window would not budge under our collective efforts to shift them, and after several minutes of trying, Hopkins and I had only managed to make a two-inch wide slit between the panels of oak.  
  
"I suppose that one of us should stay at the door then," I commented as I took a seat on the dust-covered cabinet that stood beside the window to prepare for the vigil ahead. "It will allow us to reach Miss Granger more quickly if something unexpected arises."  
  
The inspector nodded and made his way past a decrepit round table, which stood on feebly with a shattered leg in the centre of the abode, back to the soggy decaying door, with his hands hovering anxiously over the doorknob.  
  
We had not long to wait, as it was too soon before I saw through the tiny gap bobbing lanterns that indicated the arrival of a carriage. A dark figure whose face was hidden in shadow stepped cautiously from the brougham and made his way towards the small wooden wharf. Just as we had thought, Moran carefully examined the crates and barrels that were placed by the landing side. His sharp gaze then shifted to our brick house and I leaned back from the window, holding my breath as he scrutinized every detail. After what seemed like hours, Moran seemed satisfied, and continued his jaunt towards the wharf.  
  
The old man strolled with a nonchalant gait towards the edge of the dock, and paced leisurely in expectation. Five minutes crawled by, and then ten, but still I could see no sign of Kathryn's reappearance. Moran seemed equally anxious, as he peered intently into the swirling fog and snuck frequent glances at his pocket watch.  
  
Finally, just as bells from a distant chimed the ninth hour, a second figure emerged onto the scene, shrouded in a heavy cloak. The gaunt form swept with swift steps towards Moran's awaiting outline, silhouetted by the distant lamps of passing ferries.  
  
"Miss Granger's here," I whispered softly to Hopkins, who placed his hands expectantly on the doorknob.  
  
I returned my anxious gaze to the window and peered out absorbedly at the hunched figures that stood at the end of the quay. The two of them seemed to be having an animated conversation, as Moran, who had his back towards us, was gesturing frantically at Kathryn. The latter, however, was completely still, with her head lowered slightly, making her appear like a foreboding statue.  
  
"Perhaps we should try to get closer," I suggested in a murmur.  
  
Seeing a small nod from the inspector, I turned from the windowsill and crept as silently as I could to Hopkins's side, painfully aware of the creaking floorboards beneath my strides. Hopkins tightened his grasp on the doorknob and slowly turned it. The door swung out with a slight creak that was muffled by the dense fog, which also obscured our exit from the figures on the dock.  
  
With our shoulders hunched, Hopkins and I stole across the landing, carefully hugging our bodies against the shadowed wall to avoid being seen. As we approached the water's edge, voices drifted through the opaque mist.  
  
"So what will you do now?" Kathryn's voice echoed.  
  
"Well, it really depends on what you try to do, my dear," Moran replied, "but believe me; you will not put me in the dock tonight, Miss Granger."  
  
"Colonel, I have held much respect for your intelligence so far, so please don't let me down, now," Kathryn announced assertively. "Do you really expect me to let you disappear nonchalantly with your hands swinging freely by your sides onto the Continent without any qualms?"  
  
"I am afraid that your hands are quite tied in this affair, Miss Granger," Moran countered quietly. "You see, every one of us has dark secrets in our pasts-even you. I'm sure that many people would be interested to know where the daughter of Robert Granger is residing."  
  
There was a heavy pause, before Kathryn spoke up again. "Your idle threats don't frighten me. The shadow of which you speak has loomed over me for many years, yet I am still here standing before you, in perfect health."  
  
A gruff, bark-like chuckle reverberated from the edge of the wharf as we slinked ever closer to the two figures, whose dark outlines were illuminated by a lantern at the tip of the pier.  
  
"It seems that we have come to a stalemate, Miss Granger," Moran mused, still laughing loudly. "I cannot convince you to let me be, and you have no way to catch me here tonight."  
  
There was a slight shuffle of cloth, before Kathryn replied with her glasses glinting from the reflected lantern light. "Indeed, the situation does appear as you describe."  
  
"This reminds me of a similar situation that occurred at Reichenbach falls a few years ago," the Colonel commented idly as he began to pace around Kathryn, poised as if ready to strike his prey at any moment. "It seems the only differences are the location and the players in this game- we have followed the footsteps of our predecessors."  
  
"If I remember correctly," Kathryn answered calmly, still standing as still as a statue as she eyed Moran's circling figure, "the good Professor Moriarty lost, and paid with his life,"  
  
"Yes, I believe so," Moran conceded unflinchingly. "Moriarty was a genius when it came to planning anything, but Mr. Holmes's relentless pursuit of the poor old man made him doubt his own abilities. When the confrontation occurred, the professor did not believe that he would survive, so he did not plan with that in mind.  
  
"I, however, have learned from my old mentor's mistakes, so the scale tips once more in my favour." An audible click resounded in my ears, and I tried to rush towards the figures before me, held back only by Hopkins's vice- like grip on my shoulder.  
  
"We would endanger Kathryn more by revealing ourselves," the young inspector whispered urgently into my ear. "We must be patient and let her deal with this."  
  
Before I could utter a retort, Moran's voice caught both of our attentions once again. "It would be a shame if you force me to remove you from my path, but I'm afraid that you must stand aside, one way or another."  
  
"You shall not pass, Colonel- not this time," Kathryn replied clearly with calm defiance radiating from her words as she pulled out a gleaming silver police whistle from her dress pocket and placed it at her lips.  
  
"Then you leave me no choice, my foolish dear. Say hello to your father for me."  
  
Before any of us could react, the relative silence that had enveloped us was pierced with the shrill cry of a police whistle that seemed to cut through the fog with the sharpness of a blade. The Colonel growled angrily he rushed forward at Kathryn. The next moment, a sharp bang erupted into the air like the crack of a whip, and the scene before us was obfuscated in a flurry of dark cloth.  
  
"Kathryn!" I exclaimed frantically, rushing forward desperately as my ears were still ringing from the gunshot, with Hopkins at my heels.  
  
The mist had parted to reveal the two figures thrashing on the ground as the firearm slid a short distance away from them unnoticed. Moran forced himself to the top and grasped Kathryn tightly in a chokehold as the latter grasped the Colonel's arms in an attempt to break free. Just as Kathryn's struggles began to diminish, Moran's overbearing weight was projected into the air as he was kicked unceremoniously away from her. Landing with a dull thud on the wooden boards of the dock, Moran fought to regain his footing. He groped blindly around him until his fingers felt the smooth handle of his revolver. The two figures returned to their feet simultaneously, before Kathryn made another desperate lunge for the weapon.  
  
The tussle between the two figures before us continued as both of them sidled dangerously close to the water's edge. Kathryn and Moran sought urgently for control of the firearm clutched tightly in their grasps as a second shot rang into the night sky.  
  
Finally, Kathryn's cloaked figure managed to disentangle from Moran, as she backed away from the menacing figure, pointing his gun at its owner. The latter fumed at this, and charged once more towards her like a crazed rhinoceros, causing the two of them to topple from the wooden wharf and tumble into the murky depths of the Thames below.  
  
Hopkins and I halted at the end of the dock, peeking desperately for any sign of either figure in the bubbling expanse of icy water. An eternity seemed to elapse, before Kathryn's head burst from the turbulent surface of the river, coughing and gasping urgently for air.  
  
Hopkins and I released the breaths that we didn't know we were holding, as she began to swim steadily back to the shore, but our looks of relief returned to those of horror as Kathryn uttered a shocked cry before disappearing again under the waves.  
  
"We have to go after her," I exclaimed, taking off my billowing coat before plunging into the freezing water after my companion.  
  
The bitter coldness of the river seared my skin and gnawed angrily at my old bullet wound as I heaved my first stroke, diving deeper in frantic search of some sign from either Kathryn or Moran. Ignoring the blinding relentless pain, I opened my eyes as widely as I could, peering anxiously into the opaque darkness that surrounded me.  
  
Three strokes down, then four, but still I could find nothing. Then, just as my lungs would allow me to go no farther, I thought I could barely make out in the dappled lamplight the ghostly outline of a pallid hand freely adrift in the mucky depths almost as if it had detached from its former owner. I reached out as far I could, and my fingertips barely grazed the nails on the other hand.  
  
Pushing with all my might against my surrounding water, I heaved a final stroke, before I firmly grasped the hand below me at the wrist. I turned myself back upwards, and began the long journey back to the surface with the scattered lights from lanterns my as my only guide.  
  
I kicked frantically and stroked as hard as I could, but alas, it was to no avail- the weight of the body I dragged with me was too great. I would not be able to return to the surface unless I relinquished my hold on the hand in my grasp.  
  
Just as my hopes began to dim along with my already clouded vision, I felt a pair of strong arms clasp my own, before I was lifted hastily out of the water, with the hand that I had grasped firmly in tow.  
  
A cacophony of strident noises besieged my ears as soon as my feet touched firm ground once again. I staggered drunkenly this way and that, struggling to make out something coherent from the overwhelming discord of shouting and pounding that was smothering me. My bleary heavy-lidded eyes could make out the faint outline of a person rushing towards me, before everything went blurry, and I was sent tumbling into the oblivion of unconsciousness.  
  
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A/N: Hope you enjoyed the climax; please review and tell me what you think! 


	19. The Aftermath

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes related characters belong to Doyle, not me.  
  
A/N: Well, here's the next chapter. Thanks to Tonifranz for the review, by the way. I'm still working on it, but I'll get University Life posted as soon as I can!  
  
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Chapter 19- The Aftermath  
  
"Dr. Watson, are you alright?" Stanley Hopkins's concerned voice called frantically, dragging me from the darkness that had engulfed me.  
  
I quickly opened my eyes that I hadn't realized were closed, and found myself lying on the wooden wharf, staring into the distraught inspector's face.  
  
"You really had me worried there for a moment, when you didn't come back up," he said with relief clearly evident as he eased me into a sitting position.  
  
As memories of the night's events returned to me, I craned my sore neck around and peered anxiously around. "What happened?" I managed to croak in a raspy voice that sounded unfamiliar to my ears.  
  
"You were able to find Miss Granger in the water, Doctor," Hopkins told me. "It seems that she had tried unsuccessfully to drag Colonel Moran to the surface with her. Apparently the old man put up a fight and tried to drag her down with him-if it weren't for you, she wouldn't have survived."  
  
My eyes rested on Kathryn's body lying motionlessly nearby surrounded by a myriad of policemen, gaping bemusedly as the inspector's words began to sink in. "How is she?" I asked, barely above a whisper.  
  
"She'll be fine, I think," Hopkins assured. "We managed to get her breathing, at least. She should be waking up any moment now."  
  
"And the Colonel?" I enquired, too tired to form a complete sentence.  
  
"He wasn't as lucky, I'm afraid," Hopkins replied gravely. "We haven't been able to revive him yet."  
  
The inspector slowly helped me back onto my feet as the clip clop of hooves sounded in front of us. "Come on, Doctor. I think it's time for us to return to Scotland Yard."  
***  
  
The quiet crackling of the glowing hearth at my feet enveloped me in a blanket of warmth and tranquillity as I rested my aching bones in a leather cushioned easy chair. A steaming cup of bittersweet tea was nestled within my fingers as I let the wispy tendrils of steam tickle my nose before I breathed in the fragrant aroma.  
  
Sighing deeply, I took a swig of the searing liquid before fixing my gaze on the bright embers reflected in the dark pool of liquid held in my cup.  
  
'It's almost as dark as the Thames,' I thought idly as I flitted through the memory of the night's proceedings.  
  
Shaking my head to end my reverie, I stood from the comfortable resting place, and began to pace rapidly in front of the fire.  
  
'I can't think about all of this now,' I reflected sombrely. 'It's too soon.'  
  
A gentle knock at the door behind me returned my mind to the present. Shifting my gaze quickly, I announced curtly, "Come in." The entrance opened slightly to reveal the tall figure of Kathryn Granger, who slipped quietly inside before closing the door behind her with a click.  
  
Her appearance had changed so dramatically that for a moment, I couldn't recognise who she was. Her long streaks of jet black hair, which had always been tied securely in a knot behind her head, now fell loosely over her shoulders-hiding, I was sure, what must have been considerable bruising on her neck. Her startling emerald green eyes, which were no longer hidden behind wire-rimmed glasses, were now darkened considerably, as the warm and innocent twinkle that had always shone with scintillating lustre was replaced by the dim yet hard glint of weary determination.  
  
"The inspectors should be arriving soon," she announced as she made her way across the room and sat on the chair that I had just vacated.  
  
"That's good to know," I replied, "At least we'll be over all of this soon enough, and hopefully Holmes will be free by the time we leave."  
  
Kathryn gazed at me introspectively with even more intensity, now that there was nothing to shield me from her piercing orbs that blazed with more emotion than I had seen since I met her. After a moment, she retracted her probing eyes and turned to stare into the radiant flames that licked hungrily at the logs in the hearth. "How are you feeling, Doctor?" she asked pensively.  
  
"I should ask you the same thing, you know," I answered, looking back at her silhouetted form.  
  
Kathryn smiled slightly, without taking her eyes from the fire, before replying, "I am doing as well as can be expected, Doctor. I must really thank you for what you have done, tonight. I owe you a life debt now, after all."  
  
"Think nothing of it, Miss Granger," I responded curtly as I suddenly found the intricate design on the carpet of utmost interest.  
  
"You still haven't answered my question," Kathryn stated calmly. "Why do you keep evading it?"  
  
"I'm not sure."  
  
My companion nodded slightly in understanding, before returning her gaze to the fireside. The silence that followed, with only the merry crackling of the hearth reaching my ears, covered me with a soothing blanket of peace and calm that lifted, for the first time in days, the burden of all the troubles that had befallen us.  
  
The tranquillity was shattered all too soon with a sharp tap at the door, before the door swung widely open to reveal a procession of detectives. In the lead, was the bulldog-faced Inspector Lestrade, bearing an inscrutable frown that puckered his features. Inspector Gregson followed his colleague into the room, with his wavy flaxen hair visibly dishevelled and his face gaped like a gold fish with incredulity and shock as his pale ashen lips formed the shape of an "O." Holmes, to my inexorable surprise, stepped in next, with iron grey eyes glinting in amusement as he nonchalantly brushed himself off, looking as if he had never been in the gallows at all. Seeing the astonishment plainly evident on my face, he smirked sardonically, before taking his place by the fireplace, propping himself up with an elbow. The young Inspector Hopkins brought up the rear, who deftly avoided everyone else's gaze, opting instead to focus his eyes solely on the carpeted floor.  
  
Hopkins slipped the door closed silently, and opted meekly to remain there as he cleared his throat. "Now that we are all gathered here, I think it is time that you offered some explanation, Miss Granger."  
  
"Certainly, Inspector; it has certainly been shrouded in mystery long enough." Kathryn replied as she slowly stood up from the comfortable easy chair. She turned to face all of us, and shot a gauging glance at each of our expressions before continuing. "The case itself is actually a simple one. Had you not been clouded by any prejudices, Inspector Lestrade, then you would have seen the truth much more easily. As it is, you allowed your previous experiences with Mr. Holmes to cloud your judgement, which robbed you of essential evidence leading to the identity of the true culprit. Yet, it is not your fault for going astray, Mr. Lestrade, because Mr. Holmes had neglected to tell a vital piece of information.  
  
"You see, Mr. Holmes had been unofficially commissioned by our government to retrieve some important documents that Moran had in his possession. Holmes contacted Miss Stamford to seek her aid in accessing the papers.  
  
"From this, it is clear that not only would Holmes's motive for murder vanish, the evidence also points out another suspect: Colonel Sebastian Moran. After all, the documents in question are quite valuable to him, and he would be at a great disadvantage if they slipped out of his papers.  
  
"Armed with this information, I went to examine carefully the crime scene once again with the good doctor, to see if I could find any traces of any other people who may have visited Miss Stamford on the evening of her death. Now, as the establishment is a respectable one, it can safely be conjectured that the rooms are cleaned every day. I confirmed this fact with the servants. Therefore, any traces of evidence that we found would most likely be from the night of the murder."  
  
"I personally searched the crime scene and found nothing out of place apart from Mr. Holmes's murder weapon," interrupted Inspector Lestrade sceptically.  
  
"At first glance, you are right- everything seems to be in place," conceded Kathryn with a nod. "However, upon closer examination, there was evidence that suggested the presence of three guests in her room that day- not just one. For example, there were four different sets of footprints in the room where the deceased was found, which were detected in a brand of cigar ash that neither Miss Stamford nor Mr. Holmes smoked."  
  
"What about the jack knife that was found at the crime scene?" Lestrade pressed on impatiently.  
  
"Well, that can be explained as well," Kathryn assured. "Where was the weapon found?"  
  
"It was tucked in the grate of the fireplace," Lestrade supplied with a huff. "It was found quite easily, actually, as it was only partially covered in a coating of ashes. But as intriguing as all that is, I don't see how it has anything to do with the case."  
  
"On the contrary, it provides a compelling explanation of the weapon's presence," Kathryn countered lightly. "How long have you known Mr. Holmes?"  
  
"Almost twenty years," Lestrade answered briskly. "Stop changing the subject, Miss Granger, and just give us an answer."  
  
Kathryn snuck a mischievous glance at Holmes, before smiling wryly. "Please bear with me for a moment, Inspector. Now, I suppose that Mr. Holmes has assisted you in several of your criminal cases during your acquaintance?"  
  
"Yes, of course."  
  
"And I suppose that you consider his assistance to be quite valuable?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"So you would agree that Mr. Holmes is a skilled detective who knows how the criminal mind and the mind of the criminal investigator?"  
  
"I suppose so-"  
  
'Then why on earth would Mr. Holmes be so inane as to place his murder weapon conveniently in a place that he knew would almost definitely be searched, without even bothering to hide it properly from plain view? Was he asking to be arrested for the crime?"  
  
Lestrade sputtered bemusedly for a few moments. "How am I supposed to know what was going on in his head? Indeed, I have seen many criminals do rash things after they have committed their foul deed in the bout of crazed excitement that they experience afterward."  
  
"Don't you think that it is more likely that the weapon was easy to find because it was planted there?" Kathryn responded calmly.  
  
"The wounds inflicted on Miss Stamford were consistent with Mr. Holmes's jack knife," stated Inspector Gregson, who finally seemed to have recovered from his shock.  
  
"Exactly," Lestrade agreed. "Let's suppose that the weapon was planted, Miss Granger. How on earth would anyone, apart from Dr. Watson and Mr. Holmes, have access to the weapon in the first place? This completely contradicts your accusation of Colonel Moran; he's in hiding, after all."  
  
"On the contrary, this strengthens my argument," Kathryn countered fixing the inspectors with a sharp gaze. "The jack knife was the murder weapon, but the person wielding it wasn't Mr. Holmes. You see, Moran had been in hiding in a place where no one would think to look- Camden House."  
  
"Camden House?" Lestrade repeated in surprise. "You mean the house where we arrested him for an attempt on Mr. Holmes's life at the conclusion of the Ronald Adair case?"  
  
Kathryn nodded. "Now you see why the Colonel had such ready access to Mr. Holmes's lodgings. In fact, Mrs. Hudson revealed that Moran, under the guise of his alias, called for Mr. Holmes the day of Miss Stamford's murder, soon after Holmes, Dr. Watson, and I left for Covent Garden that evening.  
  
"The presence of the murder weapon was the only real piece of hard evidence against Mr. Holmes; all the rest were coincidences and assumptions that made the case against Mr. Holmes almost undeniable. After all, Holmes did go to Miss Stamford's lodgings that evening. However, his motive was not to kill her, but to discuss the terms by which she would return the documents that Holmes was seeking. Moran knew that Mr. Holmes would be seeing her that evening, which is why the murder was committed shortly after, giving Holmes no valid alibi."  
  
"This theory is all well and good," remarked Lestrade, still eyeing Kathryn with scepticism, "but you've forgotten the fact that all of the servants only heard one guest entering the lodgings that evening."  
  
"That too can be explained," Kathryn assured. "The servants retired two hours early that evening, complaining of headaches, and, from what they've told me, they slept unusually soundly afterwards."  
  
"Are you suggesting that they were drugged?" Gregson asked bemusedly.  
  
"Yes," Kathryn replied. "Moran had an accomplice in the establishment, Miss Jennifer Thompson. He persuaded her to slip some opium into the curry that had been served for dinner."  
  
"So Colonel Moran murdered Miss Stamford?" asked Lestrade, once he had absorbed all he had heard.  
  
"He was the mastermind behind the plan, yes, but he wasn't the one who wielded the jack knife," Kathryn explained. She delved a hand into the depths of her dress pocket, and extracted a small ornately engraved ivory snuffbox. "During my examination of Miss Stamford's rooms, I found, among the other evidence which I have already related, this little trinket," she continued, placing the snuffbox on the table before her.  
  
"It belonged to Kumar Rao, former agent for the German government. He left Germany after a scandal, which almost cost him his life, and made his way to Britain, where he was recruited into Professor Moriarty's employ. Rao took up an alias, Abdullah Raquesh, and set up an antique shop close to Whitechapel under his new guise. He, one of the last remaining agents of Omega, came with Moran to 243 Oxford Street to murder Julia Stamford. After Miss Stamford and the Colonel had a heated argument regarding the papers, Moran left her at Rao's mercy."  
  
"Well what are we waiting here for, then?" Lestrade asked brusquely. "Why isn't the fellow under arrest?"  
  
"Mr. Kumar Rao was found murdered this morning, sir," Inspector Hopkins answered quietly from his position at the door.  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
"Dr. Watson and I went to question him about the murder this morning, but we discovered that someone else had gotten to him first," Kathryn answered grimly in response to Lestrade's outburst.  
  
"So who killed him?" Lestrade blurted loudly as he darted his flustered gaze from Kathryn to Hopkins.  
  
"Colonel Moran did," Kathryn replied before Hopkins could supply an answer. "Apparently, Mr. Rao stole the documents that Mr. Holmes had been seeking from Miss Stamford after Moran had left. The Colonel, however, is not someone who takes the theft of his possessions lightly, so he killed Rao. Unfortunately for Moran, he had neglected to find the documents, so he sent his accomplice, Miss Thompson to retrieve them.  
  
"Miss Thompson did not know of the documents' importance, so she did not retrieve them, thinking it would divert suspicion of the Stamford case from Moran and herself. She also managed to drop her spectacles in the room, which allowed Dr. Watson and me to track her down.  
  
"It seems, from our questioning of Miss Thompson, that she did not know that Moran was planning to murder Miss Stamford, and that she was compelled to help him due to the love she thought they shared. After the murder, the realisation of what she had done struck her, and she only continued her silence due to the fear of punishment.  
  
"With a little beckoning, Miss Thompson revealed the location of Moran's hideaway, Camden House, which, unfortunately, was already deserted when Dr. Watson and I arrived. Colonel Moran had known we were coming; he left me a note arranging a meeting at a dock on the end of Broad Street, where he would converse about the details of Miss Stamford's murder with me.  
  
"There is little more for me to tell you, gentlemen. When I met with Moran at the wharf, he revealed to me the details of the case, which I have already mentioned, before making an attempt at my life. If it weren't for Inspector Hopkins and Dr. Watson," she concluded, shooting grateful glances at us both, "then he probably would have succeeded."  
  
"So where is Colonel Moran, now?" Inspector Gregson asked with meek curiosity.  
  
"The Colonel had been clinging onto Miss Granger's arm when she was retrieved from the river with Dr. Watson," explained Hopkins briefly. "His body now lies in the coroner's office downstairs."  
  
A heavy silence settled into room as each us retreated into the depths of our minds, interrupted only by the warm crackling of the glowing fire, oblivious to the sombre moods of the other occupants. Dimly, a clock could be heard in the distance, slowly tolling the twelve strokes of midnight and hailing forth the new day.  
  
"Well, Mr. Holmes," Inspector Lestrade uttered quietly with his head bowed, extricating me from my tangled thoughts as he cleared his throat. "I think that I owe you an apology." 


	20. Gifts of Parting

Chapter 20- Gifts of Parting  
  
A light tap at the door beckoned my attention from my breakfast of sausage and scrambled eggs a few days later, heralding the stately form of our landlady into the room.  
  
"What is it, Mrs. Hudson?" Holmes asked languidly without looking up from his morning paper, with his favourite clay pipe lodged firmly between his thin lips as it sent billows of acrid smoke curling around him.  
  
"It's Miss Granger, sir," Mrs. Hudson replied, with fondness tangible in her voice. "She's come to say goodbye before she leaves."  
  
"Really?" Holmes asked, folding away the newspaper hurriedly as he drew his penetrating gaze on our landlady. "Well, tell her to come in if she will."  
  
The door opened obligingly behind Mrs. Hudson, revealing Kathryn Granger at the threshold, appearing recovered from her previous ordeal. Vigour and colour had returned to her pale complexion and her rosy lips were once again curved into gentle smile. The full splendour of her sparkling green eyes was once again hidden behind a pair of round wire-rimmed glasses and her dark sleek tresses of hair were once again tied elegantly into a knot behind her head. Her left hand supported a somewhat large leather rucksack slung over her shoulder, while her right was concealed within the folds of her burgundy robes and cloak.  
  
"So are you really leaving," Holmes asked as he extracted his pipe from his mouth and rose from his lounging chair, "without even staying to hear any of the trials?"  
  
"Yes, I'm afraid," Kathryn answered with a sheepish smile. "Inspector Gregson was good enough to record my account of the case in writing, so there is no need for me to appear in court. There is not much more I need to do in London, and I must return to Edinburgh before they get too near."  
  
I raised my eyebrow questioningly as Holmes nodded gravely. 'Who on earth would want to go after her?' I pondered curiously. Neither Holmes not Kathryn seemed willing to elaborate on this mysterious "they," so I had to be satisfied with my own ruminations.  
  
"So what is your situation with Scotland Yard?" Kathryn asked curiously as I returned my attention to the conversation before me.  
  
"Dear old Lestrade was simply flooded with reports and other necessary paperwork at the conclusion of the case," Holmes replied amusedly. "Apparently your explanation is much harder to put into a report than he previously thought, especially with the lack of people to put in the dock. Luckily for me, everyone believed the solution of the case as you stated it, so there is little left for me to do; I have been given a full pardon and an official apology from the superintendent himself."  
  
"What about Miss Thompson?"  
  
Holmes's face turned slightly grim at this, and averted his gaze from Kathryn's penetrating eyes.  
  
"Well, the situation is somewhat bleak for her," he admitted gravely. "She was the only survivor out of those who participated in the crime, which will make it more likely that a harsher punishment will be given. However, I have gotten the superintendent's assurance that the prosecution will push for leniency. At least she won't have to deal with Colonel Moran anymore- prison never seemed to do him much good, anyway."  
  
Kathryn nodded in understanding, and a brief silence fell over us as each of us reminisced over the recent events.  
  
"Before I take my leave, I want to thank both of you for making my time in London so enjoyable," Kathryn stated gratefully as she tactfully broke the silence. "You've given me the inspiration I need to start my next novel."  
  
"I assure you that the pleasure was ours, though unfortunately I didn't seem to have too much time to chat," Holmes commented wryly. "I think that I owe you thanks for getting me out of the dock as effectively as you did. I think the look on Lestrade's face when he apologised to me was priceless- it certainly made up for those lonely nights with only my own mind as company."  
  
A keen grin tugged playfully at Kathryn's lips. "All your thanks must go to Dr. Watson, I'm afraid," she stated amusedly, turning her gaze to me. "Holmes, you aren't generous enough with your compliments of him."  
  
She pulled out her hand from the folds of her traveller's cloak, bearing a thick sheaf of papers bound tightly with scarlet string, before handing it to me. "I think you'll find this an enlightening read," she commented knowingly, shifting her glance to Holmes, before her eyes rested on the cover page of the manuscript.  
  
"'University Life,'" I read aloud with curiosity the title neatly handwritten in long, looping letters. There was a small note attached to the front written with pencil in the same legible hand, which read:  
  
'My dear Dr. Watson,  
  
'Once again, I must say that I am indebted to you for the services  
that you have done both for me and for Mr. Sherlock Holmes. The  
friendship that you share with Holmes is of a special calibre, and I'm  
sure that you will treasure it always in your memory.  
  
'I seem to recall the fact that you expressed interest in the events  
surrounding my acquaintance with Holmes during our years at Cambridge.  
I must confess to you that we have not been entirely frank in our  
brief summaries of those episodes in our lives, due to my own  
reluctance, I'm afraid. I apologise now for not doing justice to your  
inquiries, and only hope that this manuscript will help you understand  
my motives. The document details the time of our previous association,  
including the cases and adventures that we had encountered. Hopefully,  
this will give you some more insight on your friend's past, which can  
be useful in more ways than one.  
  
'You may do with this in any way that you see fit; I trust you to use  
it in the best way possible.  
  
'Very sincerely yours,  
  
'Kathryn Granger  
  
'P.S. Judging from the state of things, it seems that we will meet  
again soon. Keep well till then.'  
  
"Thank you," I breathed in amazement as I looked up into Kathryn's joyful face.  
  
"It was the least I could do for a friend," she replied, with her eyes twinkling as brightly as stars.  
  
"I think he'll be bored to death reading about our younger selves scooting about this way and that," Holmes drawled sardonically, eyeing the papers with interest.  
  
"Don't be silly, Holmes" Kathryn chided lightly. "We weren't that vapid, to my recollection."  
  
"No, I suppose not," conceded Holmes with a seemingly nonchalant shrug, but I could tell from his eyes that the past was far from always pleasant. "Oh, this reminds me of something!" he exclaimed, before striding swiftly towards his room.  
  
"What's that about?" I wondered quietly, looking enquiringly at my long- time friend's rapidly retreating figure.  
  
"I'm not sure," Kathryn answered, as equally puzzled as I. "Holmes, my train leaves in an hour- please, don't make me late."  
  
"It is impossible for you to be late, Granger," Holmes countered returning to his position at the breakfast table. "You are always exactly on time. In any case, the station is only half an hour away at most."  
  
Kathryn sighed exasperatedly. "Well, what was all the fuss about? Aren't you going to show us what you retrieved from your room?"  
  
"Oh, very well," Holmes replied, equally exasperated. "Whatever happened to your patience?"  
  
"Holmes." Kathryn began warningly.  
  
Holmes smirked mischievously, before plunging his wiry hand into the depths of his trouser pocket. He extracted a small lacquered wooden box engraved with a small violin upon the lid. "Open it," he beckoned, holding out the box before him.  
  
Kathryn shot Holmes a gauging glance, before cautiously reaching for the box. Slowly, she slid open the carved cover, before gasping in amazement at the contents within.  
  
"It's beautiful, Holmes," she exclaimed, picking the brooch from the box. The pin was in the shape of a sword placed between a pair of golden wings and entwined with twin spirals of silver snaking from the hilt to the very tip similar to the Staff of Hermes. The central jewel was a gleaming emerald, the size and colour of which comparable only to Kathryn's twinkling orbs. It was affixed onto the sword's golden blade placed in between the wings. A smaller emerald accompanied this, secured onto the sword's hilt and surrounded by smaller rubies that gleamed at the tips of the handle.  
  
"It's a belated Christmas present," replied Holmes, winking. "I never had a chance to give it to you before, so I hope it was worth the wait."  
  
"Thank you so much for everything," Kathryn uttered appreciatively, beaming as she fixed the brooch onto her cloak, "I will wear it always, and it will remind me of happier times."  
  
Holmes returned the smile warmly, before heading to the door. "I believe you have a train to catch, Granger. We'll just come and see you off, won't we, Watson?"  
  
My gaze shifted from Kathryn to Holmes, before shaking my head slowly. "I think I'll stay here and start on this story you've given me," I answered, knowing that my two companions were seeking some time for private conversation.  
  
"I'm impressed, Granger," Holmes commented with a laugh. "You're writing's so good, that you've enticed him into reading the story when he hasn't even opened the book, yet."  
  
Kathryn smiled warmly at the joke before returning her gaze to me. "It was an honour meeting you, Doctor."  
  
"It's been nice working with you as well, Miss Granger," I said, bowing. "I hope that we will meet again, someday."  
  
"We will, Doctor, don't worry," Kathryn replied assuredly. "See you soon."  
  
"Goodbye."  
  
With that, she turned and followed Holmes out of the room, slipping the door closed behind her with a soft click. I sighed, realising that I was left to my own thoughts once again, and turned to look at the thick pages of the handwritten manuscript still in my hands. Holmes's joke had held a grain of truth behind it, as I felt intrigued just pondering about the possible tales told and the secrets, long forgotten with the passage of time, that would be revealed in the text. Taking my unfinished cup of coffee from the breakfast table, I made my way towards the fireplace at a leisurely pace. I settled down comfortably in my favourite easy chair before I turned to the first page and began to read.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
A/N: Well, that's the end of "New Ally." I really hope you enjoyed reading this story, and if not, feel free to flame me all you want. As you can see, this story ties directly into "University Life," which will hopefully get another update soon. Once again, thanks a lot to all of you who reviewed! 


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